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BV  4310  .V35  1901 

Van  Dyke,  Henry,  1852-1933 

Sermons  to  young  men 


SERMONS  TO  YOUNG   MEN 


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SERMONS  TO  YOUNG  MEN 


a  Beto  anU  ©nlarffeti  ©Uitton  of 
**  S>tTaisl)t  S)cmonfi  " 


HENRY ^ AN   DYKE 

D.  D.  (PRINCETON,   HARVARD,   YALE) 


NEW  YORK 

eijatlffi  §>cnlnier*«  Snna 

IQOI 


Copyright,  1893, 1898, 

Bt  henry  van  dyke. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OP 

PHILLIPS   BROOKS 

A    NOBLE    MAN    ABIONG    MEN 

A    FAITHFUL    PREACHER    OF    CHRIST 

AND  A  TRUE  SHEPHERD  OF  80TJL8 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED 


PREFACE 


The  call  for  a  new  edition  of  this  little 
book  affords  an  opportunity  to  change  the 
title  (which  must  have  been  somewhat  mis- 
leading, since  it  was  sometimes  misappre- 
hended) and  to  add  another  chapter  on  a 
truth  which  is  taken  for  granted  through 
the  whole  volume,  and  underlies  all  its  teach- 
ing, —  the  truth  that  the  person  of  Christ  is 
the  foundation  of  Christianity. 

The  sermons  here  printed  were  written  for 
a  church  in  which  there  are  a  great  many 
young  men,  and  afterwards  preached  in  col- 
lege chapels  at  Harvard,  Yale,  Princeton, 
and  elsewhere.  This  fact  is  mentioned 
merely  to  account  for  their  practical  tend- 
ency, and  to  explain,  or  excuse,  the  circum- 
stance that  there  is  nothing  peculiar  in  their 
religious  teaching. 

This  singularity  arises  from  the  convic- 
tion, which  I  cherish,  that  young  men  are 


preface 


really  human  beings.  They  are  not  a  dis- 
tinct species.  They  belong  to  the  human 
race  and  are  entitled  to  be  humanly  treated. 
The  best  life  for  them  is  not  separate  and 
artificial,  but  natural,  simple,  active,  full  of 
vigorous  exercise  for  mind  and  body.  The 
right  education  for  them  is  not  that  of  the 
cloister,  in  which  they  are  divided  from 
the  world,  but  that  of  the  home,  the  school, 
the  university,  the  camp,  the  workshop,  the 
athletic  field,  the  market-place,  where  lib- 
erty is  joined  to  responsibility,  and  where 
they  are  taught  to  feel  that  they  belong  to 
the  world  and  trained  to  play  a  noble,  manly 
part  in  it.  The  true  religion  to  guide  them 
in  this  education,  and  fit  them  for  this  life, 
is  not  something  novel  and  peculiar,  spe- 
cially devised  for  young  men,  but  simply  the 
plain  religion  of  Christ,  which  is  good  for 
everybody,  of  every  age  and  condition,  and 
for  all  alike. 

It  is  good  for  all  of  us  human  beings  to 
know  that  we  are  not  creatures  of  chance  or 


|)tefate  xi 

fate,  but  children  of  God,  capable  of  fellow- 
ship with  Him,  and  heirs  of  immortality  if 
we  will  only  hold  fast  to  our  birthright.  It 
is  good  for  us  all  to  have  firm  faith  and 
true  courage ;  to  pray  for  power  from  above ; 
and  to  live  as  those  who  have  been  redeemed 
by  Christ  from  the  bondage  of  sin  and  seK- 
ishness  and  moral  death.  It  is  good  for  us 
all  to  take  warning  and  encouragement  from 
the  mistakes  and  adventures  of  other  men, 
and  to  bring  the  life-histories  of  the  Bible 
home  to  our  own  business  and  bosoms.  It 
is  good  for  us  all  to  refrain  from  harsh  and 
hasty  judgment  of  our  fellow-men,  and  to  im- 
itate what  Francis  of  Assisi  calls  "  the  great 
Courtesy  of  God,  who  maketh  his  sun  to 
shine  and  his  rain  to  fall  upon  the  just  and 
upon  the  unjust."  It  is  good  for  us  all  not 
to  waste  our  time  in  speculating  about  those 
mysteries  of  theology  which  lie  beyond  the 
horizon,  but  rather  to  content  ourselves  with 
proving  the  value  of  a  short  creed,  honestly 
believed  and  thoroughly  applied.     This,  in 


xii  preface 

outline,  is  the  kind  of  religion  whicli  my 
father  (of  blessed  memory)  taught  to  me, 
and  which  I  have  tried  to  teach  in  these 
sermons. 

But  there  is  one  thing  in  which  they  have 
been  distinctly  influenced  by  the  character 
of  the  congregations  to  whom  they  were 
preached.  No  thinking  minister  can  stand 
up  before  a  company  largely  composed  of 
young  men  without  a  strong  wish  to  be  plain- 
spoken  and  to  come  straight  to  the  point. 
They  have  a  fine  impatience  of  all  mere  for- 
malities and  roimdabout  modes  of  speech, 
which  acts  as  a  moral  tonic  to  brace  the 
mind  from  vagueness  and  cleanse  the  tongue 
of  cant.  They  want  a  man  to  say  what  he 
means  and  to  mean  what  he  says.  The 
influence  of  this  unspoken  demand  is  whole- 
some and  inspiring,  and  the  preacher  ought 
to  show  his  gratitude  for  it  by  honestly  en- 
deavouring to  meet  it. 

For  this  reason  I  have  tried  to  write  these 
sermons,  not  in  a  theological  dialect,  but  in 
the  English  language. 


IJreface  xiii 

Their  real  aim  is  nothing  else  than  to  help 

people  to  be  good,  which  is  the  hardest  and 

the  finest  thing  in  the  world.     Their  gospel  is 

simply  this :  that  the  sure  way  to  be  good 

is  to  trust  and  follow  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son 

of  God. 

The  Brick  Church  Manse,  New  York, 
January  27, 189«. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  A  Man 1 

II.  Faith 27 

HE.  Courage 51 

TV.  Power 71 

V.  Redemption 97 

VI.  Abraham's  Adventure     ....      123 

VII.  Solomon's  Choice 147 

VIII.  Peter's  Mistake 167 

IX.  God  over  Aii 191 

X.  The  Horizon 211 

XI.  Christ  Fundamental 235 


I 

A  MAN 
"  |)aiD  mocl),  t^tn,  in  a  man  httttv  tlian  a  sljecp  ?  ** 

Matthew  xii,  12. 


♦♦5)oto  mutht^tn,  is  a  man  tetter  tlzn  a  sljcep  ?  " 

To  Him  who  first  spoke  these  noble  words 
they  were  an  exclamation ;  for  He  knew,  as 
no  one  else  has  ever  known,  "  what  was  in 
man."  But  to  us,  v/ho  rej^eat  them,  they 
often  seem  like  a  question ;  for  we  are  so  ig- 
norant of  what  is  best  in  ourselves  and  our 
fellow-men,  we  have  so  confused  ourselves 
with  artificial  views  and  theories,  that  we  find 
ourselves  at  the  point  to  ask  in  perplexity, 
How  much,  then,  is  a  man  better  than  a 
sheep? 

It  is  evident  that  the  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion must  depend  upon  the  view  that  we  take 
of  life.  And  at  the  very  outset  I  want  to  in- 
vite your  attention  to  two  of  the  views  that 
are  current  in  the  world,  and  the  necessary 
conclusions  to  which  they  lead  us  in  regard 
to  man. 

Suppose,  in  the  first  place,  that  we  take  a 


4  ^  Jlan 

materialistic  view  of  life.  We  shall  tlien 
deny  all  evidence  except  that  which  we  re- 
ceive through  our  senses.  Looking  at  the 
world  from  this  standpoint,  we  shall  see  in  it 
a  great  mass  of  matter,  curiously  regulated 
by  laws  which  have  results  but  no  purposes, 
and  agitated  into  various  modes  of  motion  by 
a  secret  force  whose  origin  is,  and  forever 
must  be,  unkno^vn.  Life,  in  man  as  in  other 
animals,  is  but  one  form  of  this  force.  Ris- 
ing through  many  subtle  gradations  from 
the  first  tremor  that  passes  through  the  gas- 
tric nerve  of  a  jelly-fish  to  the  most  delicate 
vibration  of  gray  matter  in  the  brain  of  a 
Plato  or  a  Shakespeare,  it  is  really  the  same 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  —  physical  in 
its  birth  among  the  kindred  forces  of  heat 
and  electricity,  physical  in  its  decay  and  ex- 
tinction as  the  causes  which  sustain  it  are 
gradually  weakened  or  suddenly  cut  oif. 
The  only  difference  between  man  and  the 
other  animals  is  a  difference  of  degree.  The 
ape  takes  his  place  in  our  ancestral  tree,  and 
with  the  sheep  we  must  acknowledge  at  least 
a  cousinship. 

It  is  true  that  we  have  somewhat  the  ad- 
vantage of  these  poor  relations.     We  belong 


a  iHan  5 

to  the  more  fortunate  branch  of  the  family, 
and  have  entered  upon  an  inheritance  con- 
siderably enlarged  by  the  extinction  of  col- 
lateral branches.  But,  after  all,  it  is  the 
same  inheritance  ;  and  there  is  nothing  in 
humanit}^  wliicli  is  not  derived  from,  and  des- 
tined to,  earth  and  ashes  and  dust. 

If,  then,  you  accept  this  view  of  life,  what 
a,nswer  can  you  give  to  the  question.  How 
much  is  a  man  better  than  a  sheep  ?  You 
must  say :  He  is  a  little  better,  but  not  much. 
In  some  things  he  has  the  advantage.  He 
lives  longer,  and  has  more  powers  of  action 
and  capacities  of  pleasure.  He  is  more 
clever,  and  has  succeeded  in  making  the  sheep 
subject  to  his  domination.  But  the  bal- 
ance is  not  all  on  one  side.  The  sheep  has 
fewer  pains,  as  well  as  fewer  pleasures  ;  less 
toil,  as  well  as  less  power.  If  it  does  not  know 
how  to  make  a  coat,  at  least  it  succeeds  in 
growing  its  own  natural  wool  clothing,  and 
that  without  taxation.  Above  all,  the  sheep 
is  not  troubled  with  any  of  those  vain  dreams 
of  moral  responsibility  and  future  life  which 
are  the  cause  of  such  great  and  needless 
trouble  to  humanity.  The  flocks  that  fed  in 
the  pastures  of  Bethlehem  got  just  as  much 


physical  happiness  out  of  existence  as  the 
shepherd  David  who  watched  them ;  and, 
being  natural  agnostics,  they  were  free  from 
David's  errors  in  regard  to  religion.  They 
could  give  all  their  attention  to  eating,  drink- 
ing, and  sleeping,  which  is  the  chief  end  of 
life.  From  the  materialistic  standpoint,  a 
man  may  be  a  little  better  than  a  sheep,  but 
not  much. 

Or  suppose,  in  the  second  place,  that  we 
take  the  commercial  view  of  life.  We  shall 
then  say  that  all  things  must  be  measured 
by  their  money  value,  and  that  it  is  neither 
profitable  nor  necessary  to  inquire  into  their 
real  nature  or  their  essential  worth.  Men 
and  sheep  are  worth  what  they  will  bring  in 
the  open  market ;  and  this  depends  upon  the 
supply  and  demand.  Sheep  of  a  very  rare 
breed  have  been  sold  for  as  much  as  five  or 
six  thousand  dollars.  But  men  of  common 
stock,  in  places  where  men  are  plenty  and 
cheap  (as  for  example  in  Central  Africa), 
may  be  purchased  for  the  price  of  a  rusty 
musket  or  a  piece  of  cotton  cloth.  Accord- 
ing to  this  principle,  we  must  admit  that  the 
comparative  value  of  a  man  and  a  sheep  is 
a  very  uncertain  matter,  and  that  there  are 


3t  iHan  7 

times  when  the  dumb  animal  is  much  the 
more  valuable  of  the  two. 

Of  course,  you  perceive  that  this  view, 
carried  out  to  its  logical  conclusions,  means 
slavery ;  and  you  call  my  attention  to  the 
fact  that  slavery  has  been  abolished,  by  com- 
mon consent  of  the  civilized  world.  Yes, 
thank  God,  that  is  true.  We  have  done 
away  with  the  logical  conclusion.  In  this 
land,  at  least,  men  and  sheep  are  no  longer 
put  up  at  the  same  block  to  be  disposed  of 
to  the  highest  bidder.  We  have  gotten  rid 
of  the  logical  conclusion.  But  have  we  got- 
ten rid  entirely  of  the  premise  on  which  it 
rested?  Does  not  the  commercial  view  of 
life  still  prevail  in  civilized  society  ? 

"  How  much  is  that  man  w^orth  ?  "  asks  the 
curious  inquirer.  "  That  man,"  answers  the 
animated  Commercial  Eegistry  and  Business 
Directory,  "  is  worth  a  million  dollars  ;  and 
the  man  sitting  next  to  him  is  not  worth  a 
penny."  What  other  answer  can  be  given 
by  one  who  judges  everything  by  a  money 
standard  ?  If  wealth  is  really  the  measure  of 
value,  if  the  end  of  life  is  the  production  or 
the  acquisition  of  riches,  then  humanity  must 
take  its  place  in  the  sliding  scale  of  com- 


8  gtiHan 

modities.  Its  value  is  not  fixed  and  certain. 
It  depends  upon  accidents  of  trade.  We 
must  learn  to  look  upon  ourselves  and  our 
fellow-men  purely  from  a  business  point  of 
view,  and  to  ask  only  :  What  can  this  man 
make  ?  how  much  has  that  man  made  ?  how 
much  can  I  get  out  of  this  man's  labour  ? 
how  much  will  that  man  pay  for  my  services  ? 
Those  little  children  that  play  in  the  squalid 
city  streets,  —  they  are  nothing  to  me  or  to 
the  world  ;  there  are  too  many  of  them,  they 
are  worthless.  Those  long  -  fleeced,  high- 
bred sheep  that  feed  upon  my  pastures,  they 
are  among  my  most  costly  possessions,  they 
will  bring  an  enormous  price,  they  are  im- 
mensely valuable.  How  much  is  a  man 
better  than  a  sheep  ?  What  a  foolish  ques- 
tion !  Sometimes  the  man  is  better ;  some- 
times the  sheep  is  better.  It  all  depends 
upon  the  supply  and  demand. 

Now  these  two  views  of  life,  the  material- 
istic and  the  commercial,  always  have  ex- 
isted and  do  still  exist  in  the  world.  Men 
have  held  them  consciously  and  uncon- 
sciously. At  this  very  day  there  are  some 
who  profess  them ;  and  there  are  many  who 
act  upon  them,  although  they  may  not  be  will- 


a  iHan  9 


ing  to  acknowledge  them.  They  have  been 
the  parents  of  countless  errors  in  philosophy 
and  sociology ;  they  have  bred  innumerable 
and  loathsome  vices  and  shames  and  cruel^ 
ties  and  oppressions  in  the  human  race.  It 
was  to  shatter  and  destroy  these  deadly  false- 
hoods, to  sweep  them  away  from  the  mind 
and  heart  of  humanity,  that  Jesus  Christ  came 
into  the  world.  We  cannot  receive  his  gos- 
pel in  any  sense,  we  cannot  begin  to  imder- 
stand  its  meaning  and  purpose,  unless  we 
fully,  freely,  and  sincerely  accept  his  great 
revelation  of  the  divine  dignity  and  inesti- 
mable value  of  man  as  man. 

We  say  this  was  his  revelation.  Un- 
doubtedly it  is  true  that  Christ  came  to  re- 
veal God  to  man.  But  undoubtedly  it  is 
just  as  true  that  He  came  to  reveal  man  to 
himself.  He  called  himseK  the  Son  of  God, 
but  He  called  himself  also  the  Son  of  Man. 
His  nature  was  truly  divine,  but  his  nature 
was  no  less  truly  human.  He  became  man. 
And  what  is  the  meaning  of  that  lowly  birth 
in  the  most  helpless  form  of  infancy,  if  it  be 
not  to  teach  us  that  humanity  is  so  related 
to  Deity  that  it  is  capable  of  receiving  and 
embodying  God  himself  ?     He  died  for  man. 


10  a  JHan 

And  what  is  the  meaning  of  that  sacrifice, 
if  it  be  not  to  teach  us  that  God  counts  no 
price  too  great  to  pay  for  the  redemption  of 
the  human  soul  ?  This  gospel  of  our  Lord 
and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ  contains  the  high- 
est, grandest,  most  ennobling  doctrine  of 
humanity  that  ever  has  been  proclaimed 
on  earth.  It  is  the  only  certain  cure  for 
low  and  debasing  views  of  life.  It  is  the 
only  doctrine  from  which  we  can  learn  to 
think  of  ourselves  and  our  fellow-men  as  we 
ought  to  think.  And  I  ask  you  to  consider 
for  a  little  while  to-day  the  teachings  of 
Jesus  Christ  in  regard  to  the  dignity  and 
worth  of  a  man. 

Suppose,  then,  that  we  come  to  Him  with 
this  question :  How  maich  is  a  man  better 
than  a  sheep  ?  He  will  tell  us  that  a  man 
is  infinitely  better,  because  he  is  the  child  of 
God,  because  he  is  capable  of  fellowship  with 
God,  and  because  he  is  made  for  an  immortal 
life.  And  this  threefold  answer  will  shine 
out  for  us  not  only  in  the  words,  but  also  in 
the  deeds,  and  above  all  in  the  death,  of  the 
Son  of  God  and  the  Son  of  Man. 

I.  Think,  first  of  aU,  of  the  dignity  of  a 
man,  as  the  offspring  and  the   likeness  of 


^  iRan  11 

God.  This  was  not  a  new  doctrine  first  pro- 
claimed by  Christ.  It  is  clearly  taught  in 
the  magnificent  imagery  of  the  Book  of  Gene- 
sis. The  chief  design  of  that  great  picture 
of  the  beginnings  is  to  show  that  a  Personal 
Creator  is  the  source  and  author  of  all  things 
that  are  made.  But  next  to  that,  and  al- 
most, perhaps  altogether,  of  equal  impor- 
tance, is  the  design  to  show  that  man  is  incal- 
cidably  superior  to  all  the  other  works  of 
God,  —  that  the  distance  between  him  and 
the  lower  animals  is  not  a  difference  in  de- 
gree, but  a  difference  in  kind ;  yes,  the  dif- 
ference is  so  great  that  we  must  use  a  new 
word  to  describe  the  origin  of  humanity,  and 
if  we  speak  of  the  stars  and  the  earth,  the 
trees  and  the  flowers,  the  fishes,  the  birds 
and  the  beasts,  as  the  works  of  God,  when 
man  appears  we  must  find  a  nobler  name 
and  say.  This  is  more  than  God's  work,  it 
is  God's  child. 

Our  human  consciousness  confirms  this 
testimony  and  answers  to  it.  We  laiow  that 
there  is  something  in  us  v/hich  raises  us  infi- 
nitely above  the  things  that  we  see  and  hear 
and  touch,  and  the  creatures  that  appear  at 
least  to  spend  their  brief  life  in  the  auto- 


12  %  JHan 

matic  workings  of  sense  and  instinct.  These 
powers  of  reason  and  affection  and  conscience, 
and  above  all  this  wonderful  power  of  free 
will,  the  faculty  of  swift,  sovereign,  volun- 
tary choice,  belong  to  a  higher  being.  We 
say  not  to  corruption.  Thou  art  my  father, 
nor  to  the  worm,  Thou  art  my  mother  ;  but 
to  God,  Thou  art  my  father,  and  to  the  Great 
Spirit,  In  thee  was  my  life  born.  Frail  and 
mortal  as  our  physical  existence  may  be,  in 
some  respects  the  most  frail,  the  most  de- 
fenseless among  animals,  we  are  yet  conscious 
of  something  that  lifts  us  up  and  makes  us  su- 
preme. "Man,"  says  Pascal,  "  is  but  a  reed, 
the  feeblest  thing  in  nature  ;  but  he  is  a  reed 
that  thinks.  It  needs  not  that  the  universe 
arm  itself  to  crush  him.  An  exhalation,  a 
drop  of  water,  suffice  to  destroy  him.  But 
were  the  universe  to  crush  him,  man  is  yet 
nobler  than  the  universe,  for  he  knows  that 
he  dies,  and  the  universe,  even  in  prevailing 
against  him,  knows  not  its  power." 

Now  the  beauty  and  strength  of  Christ's 
doctrine  of  man  lie  not  in  the  fact  that  He 
was  at  pains  to  explain  and  defend  and  justify 
this  view  of  human  nature,  but  in  the  fact 
that  He  assumed  it  with  an  unshaken  convic- 


a  iHan  13 

tlon  of  its  truth,  and  acted  upon  it  always 
and  everywhere.  He  spoke  to  man,  not  as 
the  product  of  Nature,  but  as  the  child  of 
God.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  we  are 
different  from  plants  and  animals,  and  that 
we  are  conscious  of  the  difference.  "  Con- 
sider the  lilies,"  Pie  says  to  us,  "the  lilies 
cannot  consider  themselves  :  they  know  not 
what  they  are,  nor  what  their  life  means; 
but  you  know,  and  you  can  draw  the  lesson 
of  their  lower  beauty  into  your  higher  life. 
Regard  the  birds  of  the  air :  they  are  dumb 
and  unconscious  dependents  upon  the  Divine 
bounty,  but  you  are  conscious  objects  of  the 
Divine  care  ;  are  you  not  of  more  value  than 
many  sparrows  ?  "  Through  all  his  words 
we  feel  the  thrilling  power  of  this  high  doc- 
trine of  humanity.  Pie  is  always  appealing 
to  reason,  to  conscience,  to  the  power  of 
choice  between  good  and  evil,  to  the  noble 
and  God-like  faculties  in  man. 

And  now  think  for  a  moment  of  the  fact 
that  his  life  was  voluntarily,  and  of  set  pur- 
pose, spent  among  the  poorest  and  humblest 
of  mankind.  Kemember  that  He  spoke  not 
to  philosophers  and  scholars,  but  to  peas- 
ants and  fishermen  and  the  little  children  of 


14  %  pan 


the  world.  What  did  He  mean  by  that? 
Surely  it  was  to  teach  us  that  this  doctrine 
of  the  dignity  of  human  nature  applies  to  man 
as  man.  It  is  not  based  upon  considerations 
of  wealth  or  learning  or  culture  or  eloquence. 
Those  are  the  things  of  which  the  world 
takes  account,  and  without  which  it  refuses 
to  pay  any  attention  to  us.  A  mere  man,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  is  a  nobody.  But 
Christ  comes  to  humanity  in  its  poverty,  in 
its  ignorance,  stripped  of  all  outward  attri- 
butes and  signs  of  power,  destitute  of  all 
save  that  which  belongs  in  common  to  man- 
kind, —  to  this  lowly  child,  this  very  beggar- 
maid  of  human  nature,  comes  the  King,  and 
speaks  to  her  as  a  princess  in  disguise,  and 
sets  a  crown  upon  her  head.  And  I  ask  you 
if  this  simple  fact  ought  not  to  teach  us 
how  much  a  man  is  better  than  a  sheep. 

II.  But  Christ  reveals  to  us  another  and 
a  still  higher  ground  of  the  dignity  of  man 
by  speaking  to  us  as  beings  who  are  capable 
of  holding  communion  with  God,  and  reflect- 
ing the  divine  holiness  in  our  hearts  and  lives. 
And  here  also  his  doctrine  gains  clearness 
and  force  when  we  bring  it  into  close  con- 
nection with  his  conduct.     I  suppose  that 


9L  JHan  15 

there  are  few  of  us  who  would  not  be  ready- 
to  admit  at  once  that  there  are  some  men  and 
women  who  have  high  spiritual  capacities. 
For  them,  we  say,  religion  is  a  possible  thing. 
They  can  attain  to  the  knowledge  of  God 
and  fellowship  with  Him.  They  can  pray, 
and  sing  praises,  and  do  holy  work.  It  is 
easy  for  them  to  be  good.  They  are  born 
good.  They  are  saints  by  nature.  But  for 
the  great  mass  of  the  human  race,  this  is  out 
of  the  question,  absurd,  impossible.  They 
must  dweU  in  ignorance,  in  wickedness,  in 
impiety. 

But  to  all  this  Christ  says.  No !  No,  to 
our  theory  of  perfection  for  the  few.  No,  to 
our  theory  of  hopeless  degradation  for  the 
many.  He  takes  his  way  straight  to  the 
outcasts  of  the  world,  the  publicans  and  the 
harlots  and  sinners ;  and  to  them  He  speaks 
of  the  mercy  and  the  love  of  God  and  the 
beauty  of  the  heavenly  life  :  not  to  cast  them 
into  black  despair ;  not  because  it  was  impos- 
sible for  them  to  be  good  and  to  find  God, 
but  because  it  was  divinely  possible,  —  be- 
cause God  was  waiting  for  them,  and  because 
something  in  them  was  waiting  for  God. 
They  were  lost,  —  but  surely   they  never 


16  a  JHan 

could  have  been  lost  unless  they  had  first  o£ 
all  belonged  to  God ;  and  this  makes  it  pos- 
sible for  them  to  be  found  again.  They  were 
prodigals,  —  but  surely  the  prodigal  is  also  a 
cliild,  and  there  is  a  place  for  him  in  the 
father's  house.  He  may  dwell  among  the 
swine,  but  he  is  not  one  of  them ;  he  is  ca- 
pable of  remembering  his  father's  love,  he  is 
capable  of  answering  his  father's  embrace, 
he  is  capable  of  dwelling  in  his  father's  house 
in  filial  love  and  obedience. 

That  is  the  doctrine  of  Christ  in  regard  to 
fallen  and  disordered  and  guilty  human  na- 
ture. It  is  fallen,  it  is  disordered,  it  is  guilty ; 
but  the  capacity  of  reconciliation,  of  holiness, 
of  love  to  God,  still  dwells  in  it,  and  may  be 
quickened  into  a  new  life.  That  is  God's 
work,  but  God  himself  could  not  do  it  if  man 
were  not  capable  of  it. 

Do  you  remember  the  story  of  the  portrait 
of  Dante  which  is  painted  upon  the  walls  of 
the  Bargello,  at  Florence  ?  For  many  years 
it  was  supposed  that  the  picture  had  utterly 
perished.  Men  had  heard  of  it,  but  no  one 
living  had  ever  seen  it.  But  presently  came 
an  artist  who  was  determined  to  find  it  again. 
He  went  into  the  place  where  tradition  said 


^  JKati  17 

tliat  it  had  been  painted.  The  room  was  used 
as  a  storehouse  for  hunber  and  straw.  The 
walls  were  covered  with  dirty  whitewash. 
He  had  the  heaps  of  rubbish  carried  away. 
Patiently  and  carefully  he  removed  the  white- 
wash from  the  wall.  Lines  and  colours  long 
hidden  began  to  appear.  And  at-  last  the 
grave,  lofty,  noble  face  of  the  great  poet 
looked  out  again  upon  the  world  of  light. 

"  That  was  wonderful,"  you  say,  "  that 
was  beautiful !  "  Not  half  so  wonderful  as 
the  work  which  Christ  came  to  do  in  the 
heart  of  man,  —  to  restore  the  likeness  of 
God  and  bring  the  divine  image  to  the  light. 
He  comes  to  us  with  the  knowledge  that 
God's  image  is  there,  though  concealed ;  He 
touches  us  with  the  faith  that  the  likeness 
can  be  restored.  To  have  upon  our  hearts 
the  impress  of  the  divine  nature,  to  know 
that  there  is  no  human  being  in  whom  that 
treasure  is  not  hidden,  and  from  whose  stained 
and  dusty  soul  Christ  cannot  bring  out  that 
reflection  of  God's  face,  —  that,  indeed,  is  to 
feel  the  dignity  and  value  of  humanity,  and 
to  know  that  a  man  is  better  than  a  sheep ! 

III.  There  is  yet  one  more  element  in 
Christ's  teaching  in  regard  to  the  dignity  and 


18  a  iftan 

value  of  man ;  and  tliat  is  his  doctrine  of 
immortality.  Tliis  truth  springs  inevitably 
out  of  his  teaching  in  regard  to  the  ori- 
gin and  capacity  of  human  nature.  A  being 
formed  in  the  divine  image,  a  being  cap- 
able of  reflecting  the  divine  holiness,  is  a 
being  so  lofty  that  he  must  have  also  the 
capacity  of  entering  into  a  life  which  is  not 
dependent  upon  the  nourishment  of  meat  and 
drink,  and  in  which  the  spiritual  powers  shall 
be  delivered  from  the  bondage  of  sense  and 
the  fear  of  death,  so  that  they  may  be  un- 
folded to  perfection.  All  that  Christ  teaches 
about  man,  all  that  Christ  offers  to  do  for 
man,  links  him  to  a  vast  and  bomidless  fu- 
ture. 

This  idea  of  immortality  runs  through 
everything  that  Jesus  says  and  does.  Never 
for  a  moment  does  He  speak  to  man  as  a 
creature  of  this  present  world.  Never  for  a 
moment  does  He  forget,  or  suffer  us  to  forget, 
that  our  largest  and  most  precious  interests 
lie  in  the  world  to  come.  He  would  arouse 
our  souls  to  perceive  and  contemplate  the 
immense  issues  of  life.  The  perils  that  beset 
us  here  through  sin  are  not  brief  and  momen- 
tary dangers,  possibilities  of  disgrace  in  tJie 


a  i^aii  19 

eyes  of  men,  of  suffering  sucli  limited  pain 
as  our  bodies  can  endure  in  the  disintegrating 
process  of  disease,  of  dying  a  temporal  death, 
which  at  the  worst  can  only  cause  us  a  few 
hours  of  anguish.  A  man  might  bear  these 
things,  and  take  the  risk  of  this  world's 
shame  and  sickness  and  death,  for  the  sake 
of  some  darling  sin.  But  the  truth  that 
flashes  on  us  like  lightning  from  the  word  of 
Christ,  is  that  the  consequence  of  sin  is  the 
peril  of  losing  an  immortal  spirit.  "  I  will 
forewarn  you,"  says  He,  "  whom  ye  shall 
fear:  fear  Him  which  after  he  hath  killed 
hath  power  to  cast  into  hell ;  yea,  I  say  unto 
you,  fear  Him." 

On  the  other  hand,  the  opportunities  that 
come  to  us  here,  through  the  grace  of  God, 
are  not  merely  opportunities  of  temporal 
peace  and  happiness,  they  are  chances  of 
securing  endless  and  immeasurable  felicity,  • 
wealth  that  can  never  be  counted  or  lost, 
peace  that  the  world  can  neither  give  nor 
take  away.  We  must  understand  that  now 
the  kingdom  of  God  has  come  near  unto  us. 
It  is  a  time  when  the  doors  of  heaven  are 
open.  We  may  gain  an  inheritance  incor- 
ruptible and  undefiled,  and  that  fadeth  not 


20  a  JHan 


away.  We  may  lay  hold,  not  only  on  a 
present  joy  of  holiness,  but  on  an  everlasting 
life  with  God. 

It  is  thus  that  Christ  looks  upon  the  chil- 
dren of  men,  not  as  herds  of  dumb  driven 
cattle,  but  as  living  souls  moving  onward  to 
eternity.  It  is  thus  that  He  dies  for  men, 
not  to  deliver  them  from  brief  sorrows,  but 
to  save  them  from  final  loss,  and  to  bring 
them  into  bliss  that  knows  no  end.  It  is 
thus  that  He  speaks  to  us,  in  solemn  words 
before  which  our  dreams  of  earthly  pleasure 
and  power  and  fame  and  wealth  are  dis- 
sipated like  unsubstantial  vapours :  "  What 
shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole 
world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  or  what  shall 
a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul  ?  " 

There  never  was  a  time  in  which  Christ's 
doctrine  of  the  dignity  and  value  of  a  man 
as  man  was  more  needed  than  it  is  to-day. 
There  is  no  truth  more  important  and  neces- 
sary for  us  to  take  into  our  hearts,  and  hold 
fast,  and  carry  out  in  our  lives.  For  here 
we  stand  in  an  age  when  the  very  throng  and 
pressure  and  superfluity  of  human  life  lead 
us  to  set  a  low  estimate  upon  its  value.     The 


a  ilan  21 

air  we  breathe  is  heavy  with  materialism  and 
commercialism.  The  lowest  and  most  de- 
basing views  of  human  nature  are  freely  pro- 
claimed and  imeonsciously  accepted.  There 
is  no  escape,  no  safety  for  us,  save  in  coming 
back  to  Christ,  and  learning  from  Him  that 
man  is  the  child  of  God,  made  in  the  divine 
image,  capable  of  the  divine  fellowship,  and 
destined  to  an  immortal  life.  I  want  to  tell 
you  just  three  of  the  practical  reasons  why 
we  must  learn  this. 

We  need  to  leam  it  in  order  to  understand 
the  real  meaning,  and  guilt,  and  danger,  and 
hatefulness  of  sin. 

Men  are  telling  us,  nowadays,  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  sin.  It  is  a  dream,  a  de- 
lusion. It  must  be  left  out  of  account.  All 
the  evils  in  the  world  are  natural  and  inevit- 
able. They  are  simply  the  secretions  of  hu- 
man nature.  There  is  no  more  shame  or 
guilt  connected  with  them  than  with  the  ma- 
laria of  the  swamp,  or  the  poison  of  the 
nightshade. 

But  Christ  tells  us  that  sin  is  real,  and  that 
it  is  the  enemy,  the  curse,  the  destroyer  of 
mankind.  It  is  not  a  part  of  man  as  God 
made  him  ;  it  is  a  part  of  man  as  he  has  un- 


22  91  jHan 

made  and  degraded  liimseK.  It  is  the  mar- 
ring  of  the  divine  image,  the  ruin  of  the 
glorious  temple,  the  seK-mutilation  and  sui- 
cide of  the  immortal  soul.  It  is  sin  that 
casts  man  down  into  the  mire.  It  is  sin 
that  drags  him  from  the  fellowship  of  God 
into  the  company  of  beasts.  It  is  sin  that 
leads  him  into  the  far  country  of  famine,  and 
leaves  him  among  the  swine,  and  makes  him 
fain  to  fill  his  belly  with  the  husks  that  the 
swine  do  eat.  Therefore  we  must  hate  sin, 
and  fear  it,  and  abhor  it,  always  and  every- 
where. When  we  look  into  our  own  hearts 
and  find  sin  there,  we  must  humble  ourselves 
before  God,  and  repent  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes.  Every  sin  that  nestles  within  us  is  a 
part  of  the  world's  shame  and  misery.  Every 
selfish  desire  that  stirs  within  our  souls  is  a 
part  of  that  which  has  stirred  up  strife,  and 
cruelty,  and  murder,  and  horrible  torture, 
and  bloody  war  among  the  children  of  men. 
Every  lustful  thought  that  defiles  our  imagi- 
nation is  a  part  of  that  which  has  begotten 
loathsome  vices  and  crawling  shames  through- 
out the  world.  My  brother-men,  God  hates 
sin  because  it  ruins  man.  And  when  we 
know  what  that  means,  when  we  feel  that 


a  JHan  23 

same  poison  of  evil  witliin  us,  we  must  hate 
sin  as  He  does,  and  bow  in  penitence  before 
Him,  crying,  "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner." 

"We  need  to  learn  Christ's  doctrine  of 
the  dignity  and  value  of  humanity  in  order 
to  help  us  to  love  our  fellow-men. 

This  is  a  thing  that  is  easy  to  profess,  but 
hard,  bitterly  hard,  to  do.  The  faults  and 
follies  of  human  natiu'e  are  so  apparent, 
the  unlovely  and  contemptible  and  offensive 
qualities  of  many  people  thrust  themselves 
so  sharply  upon  our  notice  and  repel  us  so 
constantly,  that  we  are  tempted  to  shrink 
back  wounded  and  disappointed,  and  to  re- 
lapse into  a  life  that  is  governed  by  its  dis- 
gusts. If  w^e  dwell  in  the  atmosphere  of  a 
Christless  world,  if  we  read  only  those  news- 
papers v/hich  chronicle  the  crimes  and  mean- 
nesses of  men,  or  those  realistic  novels  which 
deal  with  the  secret  vices  and  corruptions  of 
humanity,  and  fill  our  souls  wdth  the  un- 
spoken conviction  that  \"irtue  is  an  old-fash- 
ioned dream,  and  that  there  is  no  man  good, 
no  woman  pure,  I  do  not  see  how  we  can 
help  despising  and  hating  mankind.  Who 
shall  deliver  us  from  this  spii'it  of  bitterness  ? 


24  %  jitan 

Who  shall  take  us  by  the  hand  and  lead  us  out 
of  this  heavy,  fetid  air  of  the  lazar-house  and 
the  morgue  ?  None  but  Christ.  If  we  will  go 
with  Him,  He  will  teach  us  not  to  hate  our 
fellow-men  for  what  they  are,  but  to  love 
them  for  what  they  may  become.  He  will 
teach  us  to  look  not  for  the  evil  which  is 
manifest,  but  for  the  good  which  is  hidden. 
He  will  teach  us  not  to  despair,  but  to  hope, 
even  for  the  most  degraded  of  mankind. 
And  so,  perchance,  as  we  keep  company 
with  Him,  we  shall  learn  the  secret  of  that 
divine  charity  which  fills  the  heart  with 
peace,  and  joy,  and  quiet  strength.  We 
shall  learn  to  do  good  unto  all  men  as  we 
have  opportunity,  not  for  the  sake  of  grati- 
tude or  reward,  but  because  they  are  the 
children  of  our  Father,  and  the  brethren  of 
our  Saviour.  We  shall  learn  the  meaning 
of  that  blessed  death  on  Calvary,  and  be 
v/illing  to  give  ourselves  as  a  sacrifice  for 
others,  knowing  that  he  that  turneth  a  sin- 
ner from  the  error  of  his  ways  shall  save 
a  soul  from  death  and  cover  a  multitude  of 
sins. 

Finally,  we   need   to  accept  and   believe 
Christ's  doctrine  of   the   dignity  and  value 


^  iHan  25 

of  himianity  in  order  that  it  may  lead  us    X 
personally  to  God  and  a  higher  life.  x 

You  are  infinitely  better  and  more  precious 
than  the  dumb  beasts.  You  know  it,  you 
feel  it,  you  are  conscious  that  you  belong  to 
another  world.  And  yet  it  may  be  that 
there  are  some  of  you  who  forget  it,  and 
live  as  if  there  were  no  God,  no  soul,  no 
future  life.  Your  ambitions  are  fixed  upon 
the  wealth  that  corrodes,  the  fame  that 
fades;  your  desires  are  towards  the  plea- 
sures that  pall  upon  the  senses ;  you  are  bar- 
tering immortal  treasure  for  the  things  which 
perish  in  the  using.  The  time  is  coming 
when  you  must  lie  down  like  the  dumb 
beast  and  crumble  into  dust.  Nay,  not  like 
the  beast,  for  to  you  shall  come  in  that  hour 
the  still,  small  voice  saying,  "  This  night 
shall  thy  soul  be  required  of  thee." 

Thy  soul,  —  why  not   think  of   it  now  ? 
The  image  of  God   is    imj^ressed    upon  it. 
The  one  thing  needful  for  you  is  to  know, 
and  love,  and  serve  Him  who  is  the  father  of  ' 
your  spirit. 

Come  then  to  Christ,  who  alone  can  save 
you  from  the  sin  which  defiles  and  destroys 
your  manhood.     Come  then  to  Christ,  who 


26  a  iHan 

alone  can  make  you  good  men  and  true, 
living  in  the  power  of  an  endless  life.  Come 
then  to  Christ,  that  you  may  have  fellowship 
on  earth  with  the  Son  of  Man,  and  dwell 
with  the  Son  of  God  forever,  and  behold  his 
glory. 


II 

FAITH 
litjottt  faitl)  it  ifi  mj^amhlt  to  please  ^tm/ 

Hebrnus  xi.  6. 


♦* SSattl^ottt  f aiti)  it  t£f  impossiiile  to  pleace ^im** 

This  is  a  short  statement  of  a  large  truth. 
The  plain  language  lends  force  and  dignity 
to  the  thought.  It  needs  no  embroidered 
words,  no  jewelry  of  speech,  to  set  it  off. 
For  truth,  like  beauty,  shows  best  with  least 
adornment. 

In  trying  to  unfold  the  meaning  of  this 
text  I  would  fain  keep  to  that  simplicity  and 
clearness  of  which  it  gives  us  such  a  good 
model.  There  is  no  reason  why  religion 
should  be  made  dark  and  difficult  by  talking 
about  it  in  long,  unfamiliar,  antiquated  words 
which  cause  people  to  wish  for  a  dictionary  ; 
nor  is  there  any  excuse  for  seeking  to  win 
the  wonder  and  astonishment  of  men  by  ob- 
scure sayings  and  curious  comparisons,  — 
mountains  of  eloquence  which  labour  long 
and  violently  to  produce  a  little  mouse  of 
practical  sense.     In  ancient  times  the  teach- 


30  JFait^ 

ers  of  the  people  were  told  to  read  in  tlie 
book  of  tlie  Law  of  God  distinctly,  and  give 
the  sense,  and  cause  the  people  to  understand 
the  meaning.  To  reach  that  result  no  pains 
are  too  great,  no  effort  is  too  costly.  I  would 
rather  spend  five  days  in  trying  to  make  a 
text  clear  and  level  to  the  mind,  to  open  the 
door  of  it  so  that  any  one  could  walk  in, 
than  five  minutes  in  trying  to  make  it  strange 
and  mysterious,  to  cover  it  with  all  kinds  of 
ornaments  and  arabesques  so  that  nobody 
should  be  able  to  find  the  keyhole  and  un- 
lock the  door. 

Religion  is  full  of  mysteries.  The  object 
of  the  Bible  is  not  to  increase  them,  but  to 
remove  them.  If  a  certain  amount  of  mys- 
tery still  remains,  it  lies  in  the  subject,  and 
not  in  the  way  in  which  it  is  treated.  For 
the  most  part,  the  teachings  and  rules  of  the 
Scriptures  are  so  clear  and  direct  that  the 
wayfaring  man,  though  a  fool,  need  not  err 
therein  ;  they  shed  light  and  not  darkness  ; 
they  disperse  the  clouds  to  reveal  the  sun. 

Take  the  declaration  of  the  text :  "  With- 
out faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  God." 
How  easy  it  is  to  see  just  why  the  writer  of 
the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews  inserted  that  sen- 


JFaitlj  31 

tence  where  it  stands  !  He  is  writing  about 
the  heroes  of  faith,  —  the  men  and  women 
who,  from  the  very  beginning  of  the  world, 
have  been  bound  together  into  one  company 
by  this  great  principle  of  all  true  and  noble 
life.  Among  them  he  counts  the  patriarch 
Enoch.  But  as  we  look  back  to  the  brief 
record  of  Enoch's  life  in  the  Book  of  Genesis 
we  find  that  not  a  word  is  said  there  about 
his  faith.  By  what  right,  then,  is  he  included 
in  the  list  ?  Why  is  he  counted  among  the 
faithful  ?  "I  will  tell  you  why,"  says  the 
writer  of  the  Epistle  :  "it  is  because  he  ob- 
tained this  testimony,  that  he  pleased  God. 
This  is  proof  positive  that  he  must  have  had 
faith.  Where  you  find  a  flower,  you  know 
there  must  have  been  a  seed.  T\^ere  you 
find  a  river,  you  know  there  must  be  a  spring. 
Where  you  see  a  flame,  you  know  there 
must  be  a  fire.  Where  you  find  a  man  be- 
loved and  blessed  of  God,  you  know  there 
must  be  faith.  Whether  it  is  recorded  or 
not,  whether  you  can  see  it  or  not,  it  must 
be  there,  germ  of  his  virtue,  fountain-head  of 
his  goodness,  living  source  of  warmth  and 
light ;  for  without  faith  it  is  impossible  to 
please  God." 


32  JFaitlj 

How  simple  and  how  beautiful  is  that 
phi'ase,  —  to  please  God.  What  a  sense  of 
nearness  to  the  Divine  Being  it  gives  us. 
How  it  discloses  God's  nature  and  character. 
What  a  noble  statement  of  the  true  aim  of 
life. 

God  can  be  pleased,  then.  He  is  not  a 
cold  abstraction,  an  immovable  substance,  a 
dull,  unimpassioned,  silent,  joyless,  mighty 
force.  He  is  a  person,  capable  of  affections 
and  emotions.  He  is  a  heart  that  feels.  De- 
light is  no  stranger  to  Him.  His  love  is  no 
vague,  blind  impulse,  flowing  dumbly  to- 
wards all  things  alike.  It  is  a  seeking,  choos- 
ing love ;  and  when  it  finds  the  object  of  its 
search,  a  thrill  of  gladness  passes  through  it, 
larger,  purer  than  we  can  understand,  and 
yet  like  that  which  comes  to  us  when  we  see 
the  fairest  and  the  best.  He  approves  and 
blesses.  His  Spirit  is  filled  with  the  music 
of  pleasure. 

To  waken  that  music,  to  win  that  ap- 
proval, to  j)lease  God,  —  surely  that  is  the 
highest  and  holiest  object  for  a  human  life. 

To  please  men  is  a  natural  impulse. 
There  is  no  one  who  does  not  desire  in  some 
degree  to  obtain  the  liking  and  favour  of 


JaitD  33 

his  fellow-creatures.  But  presently,  as  we 
come  to  Imow  by  experience  how  shallow  and 
how  ficlde  are  the  fashions  of  the  world,  hov/ 
false  and  often  how  impure  are  the  motives  by 
which  the  liking-  of  the  crowd  is  influenced, 
how  easily  it  is  gained  by  accident  and  lost 
by  chance,  we  begin  to  see  that  this  kind  of 
surface  favour  is  deceitful,  and  to  look  for 
something  better. 

To  please  good  men,  —  that  is  a  nobler 
ambition.  To  win  the  confidence  and  honour 
of  those  who  are  honest  and  earnest  and  up- 
right ;  to  speak  some  word,  to  do  some  deed, 
to  exercise  some  virtue,  of  which  those  who 
think  deep  thoughts,  and  lead  pure  lives,  and 
perform  noble  actions,  shall  say,  "  That  was 
right,  that  was  true,  that  was  kind,  that  was 
brave,"  —  this  is  a  motive  which  has  always 
been  potent  in  the  most  generous  breasts, 
restraining  them  from  evil,  nerving  them 
to  heroic  efforts,  stimidating  them  to  dare 
and  to  do. 

But  there  is  a  motive  deeper  and  more  in- 
tense than  even  this :  it  is  the  desire  to  please 
that  one  among  our  fellow-creatures  whom 
we  have  chosen,  it  may  be,  as  the  most  loyal 
heart  and  true ;  to  pluck  some  flower  from 


34  Sim 

the  lofty  crags  of  duty ;  to  win  some  honour- 
able trophy  in  the  world's  great  battlefield, — 
yes,  even  though  that  trophy  be  but  the  scar 
received  in  warring  for  the  right,  the  banner 
which  has  been  torn  and  stained  in  an  un- 
equal conflict,  but  never  dishonoured  ;  to 
do  something,  to  endure  something,  which 
shall  really  please  the  one  who  is  to  us  the 
best  and  dearest  on  earth,  —  how  many  a 
soul  has  been  quickened,  and  uplifted,  and 
strengthened  to  face  danger,  disgrace,  and 
death  by  that  profound  desire ! 

But  to  please  God,  the  perfect,  radiant 
Being,  the  most  wise,  the  most  holy,  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  loving  of  all  Spirits ;  to 
perform  some  task,  achieve  some  victory, 
bring  some  offering  that  shall  be  acceptable 
to  Him,  and  in  which  He  shall  delight; 
simply  to  live  our  life,  whatever  it  may  be, 
so  that  He,  the  good  and  glorious  God,  shall 
approve  and  bless  it,  and  say  of  it,  "  Well 
done,"  and  welcome  it  into  the  sense  of  His 
own  joy,  —  that  is  a  divine  ambition. 

"  What  vaster  dream  could  hit  the  mood 
Of  love  on  earth  ?  " 

It  has  sustained  martyrs  at  the  stake,  and 
comforted  prisoners   in  the   dungeon,   and 


Sfm  35 

cheered  warriors  in  the  heat  of  perilous  con- 
flict, and  inspired  labourers  in  every  noble 
ca-use,  and  made  thousands  of  obscure  and 
nameless  heroes  in  every  hidden  place  of 
earth.  It  is  the  pillar  of  light  which  shines 
before  the  journeying  host.  It  is  the  secret 
watchword  of  the  army,  given  not  to  the 
leaders  alone,  but  flashing  like  fire  through 
aU  the  ranks.  When  that  thought  descends 
upon  us,  it  kindles  our  hearts  and  makes  them 
live.  What  though  we  miss  the  applause  of 
men ;  what  though  friends  misunderstand, 
and  foes  defame,  and  the  great  world  pass  us 
by  ?  There  is  One  that  seeth  in  secret,  and 
followeth  the  soul  in  its  toils  and  struggles, 
— the  great  King,  whose  approval  is  honour, 
whose  love  is  happiness ;  to  please  Him  is 
success,  and  victory,  and  peace. 

There  are  a  million  ways  of  pleasing  Him, 
as  many  as  the  characters  of  men,  as  many 
as  the  hues  and  shades  of  virtue,  as  many  as 
the  conflicts  between  good  and  evil,  as  many 
as  the  calls  to  honest  labour,  as  many  as  the 
opportunities  of  doing  right  and  being  good. 
That  is  the  broad  meaning  of  this  eleventh 
chapter  of  the  Hebrews,  with  its  long  roll 
of  different  achievements,  with   its  list  of 


36  iFaitb 

men  and  women  of  every  age,  of  every  quality 
and  condition,  slaves  and  freemen,  leaders 
and  followers,  vs^arriors  and  statesmen,  saints 
and  sinners,  and  silent  martyrs,  and  name- 
less conquerors ;  there  are  a  million  ways 
of  pleasing  God,  but  not  one  without  faith. 
Numberless  forms  of  energy,  but  none  with- 
out heat.  Myriad  colors  of  beauty,  but 
none  without  light.  All  is  cold  and  black 
until  the  sun  shines.  A  universe  of  possibili- 
ties of  goodness  spreads  before  you,  but  not 
one  of  them  can  be  realized  unless  you  have 
faith.  For  without  faith  it  is  impossible  to 
please  God. 

But  why  should  this  be  so  ?  Is  it  an  arbi- 
trary requirement  which  the  Divine  Being 
makes  of  his  creatures,  or  is  there  a  deep 
reason  for  it  in  the  nature  of  men  and  the 
conditions  of  human  life  ?  I  do  not  believe 
that  God  is  ever  arbitrary.  He  is  indeed 
omnipotent,  and  He  has  the  power  to  demand 
of  us  whatsoever  He  will.  But  there  is  al- 
wsijs  a  wise  and  holy  reason  in  his  demands. 
Sometimes  we  cannot  understand  it ;  it  lies  too 
deep  for  us.  But  sometimes  we  can  under- 
stand it ;  it  lies  within  our  reach.  And  in 
the  present  case  I  think  we  can  easily  see 


mth  37 

just  why  faith  is  necessary  to  the  success  of 
every  effort  to  please  Him. 

Faith  is  not  a  strange  and  far-away  thing 
which  can  only  be  explained  to  us  by  a  reve- 
lation. It  is  a  principle  of  common  life. 
We  exercise  it  every  day.  It  is  simply  the 
confidence  in  something  which  is  invisible ; 
as  the  Apostle  says,  "  it  is  the  substance  of 
things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not 
seen."  Every  time  you  receive  the  testimony 
of  your  fellow-men,  every  time  you  trust  in 
the  qualities  of  their  character  which  are  be- 
yond the  reach  of  your  vision,  every  time  you 
rely  upon  a  law  of  logic  in  an  argument, 
upon  a  law  of  nature  in  your  action,  upon  a 
law  of  morality  in  your  conduct,  you  exercise 
faith.  It  is  the  condition  of  reason,  of  ac- 
tivity, of  human  society.  "  All  polities  and 
societies,"  says  a  wise  observer,  "  have  come 
into  existence  through  the  trust  of  men  in 
each  other,"  and,  we  may  add,  thi-ough 
their  trust  in  unseen  principles  of  equity,  and 
in  future  results  of  prudence,  and  in  One 
higher  than  themselves  whom  they  could 
neither  see  nor  name.  Take  away  confidence 
in  the  invisible,  and  the  whole  fabric  decays, 
crumbles,  and  faUs  in  ruin. 


38  iFattJ 

Thus,  even  from  the  human  point  of  view, 
faith  is  necessary.  But  from  the  Divine 
point  of  view,  it  must  appear  infinitely  more 
essential. 

Man  is  made  to  know  as  much  as  possible, 
to  do  as  much  as  possible,  and  to  be  as  good 
as  possible.  In  the  sphere  of  knowledge,  in 
the  sphere  of  action,  in  the  sphere  of  charac- 
ter, faith  is  the  one  element  that  gives  life 
and  power  to  please  God. 

I.  Look  first  at  the  sphere  of  knowledge, 
the  understanding  of  the  world  and  of  life. 
We  stand  in  a  strange  and  mysterious  uni- 
verse, with  certain  faculties  to  help  us  to  a 
comprehension  of  it.  First,  we  have  the 
senses,  and  they  tell  us  how  things  look,  and 
taste,  and  sound,  and  feel.  Then  we  have 
the  reasoning  powers,  and  they  enable  us  to 
discover  how  things  are  related  to  each  other, 
how  causes  are  followed  by  effects,  how  great 
laws  control  their  action  and  reaction.  But 
is  there  not  something  beyond  this,  a  depth 
below  the  deep  and  a  height  beyond  the 
height?  Every  instinct  of  our  nature  as- 
sures us  that  there  must  be.  The  lesson  of 
modern  thought  is  the  limitation  of  science 
and  philosophy.     But  outside  of  this  narrow 


jFaitl)  39 

circle  lie  the  truths  that  we  most  desire 
and  need  to  know.  In  that  unexplored 
world  dwells  God.  Why  should  we  hesi- 
tate to  confess  that  we  must  have  another 
and  a  higher  faculty  of  knowledge  ?  The 
astronomer  has  keen  eyes,  but  he  knows 
their  limitation,  and  he  does  no  discredit  to 
them  when  he  uses  the  telescope  to  bring 
near  the  unseen  stars.  The  entomologist 
has  quick  sight,  but  he  does  not  disparage 
it  when  he  turns  to  the  microscope  to  search 
a  drop  of  water  for  its  strange,  number- 
less forms  of  life.  Reason  is  excellent  and 
forceful,  but  beyond  its  boundaries  there 
is  a  realm  which  can  only  be  discerned  by 
faith.  Where  science  ends,  where  philoso- 
phy pauses,  faith  begins. 

"  By  faith  we  understand  that  the  worlds 
have  been  framed  by  the  word  of  God,  so  that 
what  is  seen  hath  not  been  made  out  of  things 
which  do  appear." 

Mark  the  words  :  By  faith  we  understand. 
It  is  a  principle  of  comprehension,  then,  not 
of  confusion  ;  something  which  clarifies  and 
enlarges  the  vision.  It  discloses  not  only 
the  origin  but  also  the  purpose  and  the 
meaning  of  things.     It  is  not  the  contradic- 


"^ 


40  iFaitl^ 

tion,  but  the  crown  and  complement  of  reason. 
How  can  God  be  pleased  with  any  knowledge 
from  which  this  element  is  left  out  ? 

Suppose  that  you  had  written  a  book,  and 
some  one  should  take  it  up  and  measure  it, 
and  say :  "  This  curious  object  is  composed 
of  cloth,  paper,  ink,  glue,  and  thread.  It  is 
seven  inches  long,  five  inches  wide,  and  two 
inches  thick ;  it  contains  five  hundred  pages 
and  a  hundred  thousand  words,  and  I  wonder 
where  it  came  from  and  what  it  is  for." 
Would  that  please  you  ? 

Suppose  that  you  had  carved  a  statue,  and 
some  one  should  find  it  and  say :  *'  This  re- 
markable stone  is  composed  of  carbonate  of 
lime ;  it  is  very  smooth  and  white,  and  it 
weighs  about  six  hundred  pounds,  and  I 
think  I  have  explained  it  perfectly."  Would 
that  satisfy  you  ?  Would  you  not  be  better 
pleased  with  the  child,  or  the  ignorant  peas- 
ant, who  stood  and  looked  at  your  statue  and 
felt  its  beauty,  and  recognized  that  it  had 
been  made  by  some  one  to  represent  a  great, 
a  noble,  a  lovely  idea  ? 

The  world  was  made  for  its  meaning,  to 
show  forth  the  wisdom,  power,  and  goodness 
of  God.    If  we  do  not  see  that,  we  see  nothing. 


jFaitl^  41 

We  may  be  able  to  tell  how  many  stars  are 
in  the  Milky  Way ;  we  may  be  able  to 
count  the  petals  of  every  flower,  and  num- 
ber the  bones  of  every  bird ;  but  unless 
faith  leads  us  to  a  deeper  imderstanding,  a 
more  reverent  comprehension  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  universe,  God  can  no  more  be 
pleased  with  our  knowledge  than  the  painter 
is  pleased  with  the  fly  which  touches  his  pic- 
ture with  its  feelers,  and  sips  the  varnish 
from  the  surface,  and  dies  without  dreaming 
of  the  meaning,  thought,  feeling,  embodied 
in  the  colours.  But  on  the  simplest  soul 
that  feels  the  wonder  and  the  hidden  glory 
of  the  universe,  on  the  child  to  whom  the 
stars  are  little  windows  into  heaven,  or  the 
poet  to  whom 

*  *  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  ^ve 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears," 

God  looks  down  with  pleasure  and  ap- 
proval. For  in  such  a  soul  He  sees  the  be- 
ginning of  faith,  which  is  able  to  pass  behind 
the  appearance  to  the  reality,  and  make  its 
possessor  wise  unto  everlasting  life. 

II.  Turn  now  to  the  sphere  of  action. 
Here  faith  is  no  less  necessary.  There  are 
some  who  would  persuade  us  that  believing 


42  iFattS 

is  appropriate  only  to  infancy  and  old  age ; 
that  it  is  a  kind  of  dreaming,  an  infirmity  of 
the  weak  and  visionary.  But  the  truth  is 
otherwise.  Carlyle  says  :  "  Belief  is  great, 
life-giving.  The  history  of  a  nation  becomes 
fruitful,  soul-elevating,  great,  so  soon  as  it 
believes.  A  man  lives  by  believing  some- 
thing, not  by  debating  and  arguing  about 
many  things."  Faith  is  power.  It  makes 
men  strong,  ardent,  persistent,  heroic.  No- 
thing truly  great  has  ever  been  done  in  any 
department  of  the  world's  work  without  faith. 
Think  of  the  faith  of  our  explorers  and  dis- 
coverers, —  Columbus,  who  found  the  New 
World ;  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  who  planted  it 
with  life ;  Livingstone,  who  opened  a  new 
continent  to  civilization.  Think  of  the  faith 
of  our  men  of  science,  —  Galileo,  Kepler, 
Newton,  Faraday,  Henry.  Think  of  the 
faith  of  the  reformers,  —  Wyclif ,  Luther, 
Knox.  Think  of  the  faith  of  the  martyrs,  — 
Polycarp,  Huss,  Savonarola,  the  Covenanters 
of  Scotland,  the  Huguenots  of  France.  Faith 
is  a  force,  and  those  who  grasp  it  lay  hold 
of  something  which  is  able  to  make  them 
mightier  than  themselves. 

Let  a  man  fasten  himself  to  some  great 


JFaitl)  43 

idea,  some  large  truth,  some  noble  cause, 
even  in  the  affairs  of  this  world,  and  it  will 
send  him  forward  with  energy,  with  stead- 
fastness, with  confidence.  This  is  what 
Emerson  meant  when  he  said,  "  Hitch  your 
wagon  to  a  star."  These  are  the  potent, 
the  commanding,  the  enduring,  the  inspiring 
men,  —  in  our  own  history,  men  like  Wash- 
ington and  Lincoln.  They  may  fall,  they 
may  be  defeated,  they  may  perish  ;  but  on- 
ward moves  the  cause,  and  their  souls  go 
marching  on  with  it,  for  they  are  part  of  it, 
they  have  believed  in  it. 

And  if  the  cause  be  divine,  if  the  idea 
come  from  above,  if  the  action  be  impelled 
by  faith  in  God  and  a  resolve  to  do  his  will, 
then  how  dauntless  and  impregnable  does  it 
make  the  heart  in  which  it  dwells !  Paul 
standing  alone  against  the  mocking,  sneering 
world  to  testify  to  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus, 
"I  believe  and  therefore  speak:"  Luther 
riding  into  the  city  of  Worms,  though  every 
housetop  were  thronged  with  devils,  and  ap- 
pearing alone  before  the  imperial  council, 
"  Here  stand  I,  I  cannot  do  otherwise,  God 
help  me :  "  Morrison,  the  first  missionary  to 
China,  standing  alone  on  the  deck  of  the  ship 


44  iFatt^ 

that  bears  him  to  a  strange  and  hostile  world : 
"  Do  you  think,"  says  the  captain, ''  that  you 
will  make  an  impression  upon  400,000,000 
Chinese  ?  "  "  No,  sir,"  is  the  reply,  "  but  I 
believe  that  God  will :  "  —  that  is  faith, — 
everywhere  and  always  the  victory  that  over- 
cometh  the  world. 

I  will  make  a  personal  confession  to  you. 
Very  often  it  seems  to  me  as  if  there  were 
one,  and  only  one,  great  and  essential  differ- 
ence among  the  multitudes  of  people  who 
inhabit  this  earth.  Moving  about  among 
them,  coming  into  contact  with  them,  I  find 
that  some  men  and  women  seem  unreal, 
hollow,  visionary,  masks  without  faces,  cos- 
tumes without  character.  They  run  in  the 
grooves  of  custom,  they  drift  to  and  fro  on 
the  currents  of  fashion,  they  are  blown  up 
and  down  by  the  winds  of  popular  opinion  ; 
even  when  they  seem  to  lead,  it  is  only  as 
the  lightest  leaf  is  carried  along  foremost 
by  the  gale.  They  are  only  animated  shad- 
ows, without  principle  or  probity,  without 
conviction  or  consistency,  without  faith  or 
fidelity.  But  other  men  and  women  seem 
real,  and  true,  and  genuine.  There  is  some- 
thing behind  their  looks,  their  words,  their 


iFaitl)  45 

actions.  They  have  power  to  touch,  and 
move,  and  satisfy  the  heart,  because  they  be- 
lieve. Have  you  never  felt  the  difference  ? 
Do  you  think  that  God  does  not  feel  it  ? 
Can  a  mask,  a  shadow,  however  fair  or 
orderly,  please  Him  ?  Will  He  withhold  his 
approval  and  blessing  from  any  real,  honest, 
struggling,  believing  soul  ? 

But  perhaps  some  may  be  thinking  just 
now :  "  This  is  the  old  story  that  the 
preacher  is  telling  us  ;  he  is  singing  the  same 
old  song  about  faith,  —  and  still  faith,  — 
and  always  the  necessity  of  faith !  Why  not 
lay  more  emphasis  on  works  ?  Surely  they 
are  more  important.  He  has  just  told  us 
that  there  are  many  ways  of  pleasing  God. 
There  are  many  courses  of  good  conduct 
open  to  us  all.  If  we  follow  any  one  of 
them,  that  is  enough.  So  long  as  a  man's 
actions  are  right  it  makes  no  difference  what 
lies  behind  them,  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  he  believes  or  not."  Do  you  really 
think  so?  Is  there  no  difference  between 
a  body  without  a  spirit  and  a  body  with  a 
spirit?  Does  not  the  thought,  the  motive, 
the  purpose  count  for  something  ? 

Here  are  a  multitude  of  people  giving  their 


46  JFaft!) 

money  to  support  the  Temple.  And  many 
rich  men,  standing  beside  the  treasury,  cast 
j  in  their  gifts  ;  from  habit,  from  a  desire  to 
appear  well  before  the  world,  from  a  hope 
of  reward.  A  poor  widow  comes  with  her 
two  mites ;  she  knows  her  gift  will  be  de- 
spised, she  fears  it  may  be  laughed  at,  but 
she  believes  that  God  wants  her  to  do  what 
she  can,  and  that  He  will  not  refuse  her 
offering.  So  her  coppers  fall  in  among  the 
gold  and  the  silver,  and  the  Lord  of  the 
treasury  blesses  her,  and  says,  "  She  hath 
given  more  than  they  all." 

Here  are  two  women  going  down  to  work 
among  the  sick  and  the  poor.  One  goes  be- 
cause there  is  a  fashion  of  it,  because  she 
would  fain  have  the  credit  which  belongs  to 
the  lady  bountiful.  She  moves  among  them 
like  an  iceberg,  and  they  hate  her.  She 
brings  a  chill  with  her  which  all  her  coals 
and  blankets  can  never  warm  away.  The 
other  goes  because  she  believes  in  it,  believes 
that  God  wants  her  to  do  it,  believes  that 
the  sorrowful  and  the  distressed  are  Christ's 
brethren,  and  that  she  is  bound  to  them,  and 
that  they  have  immortal  souls  which  she  may 
win  for  Him.     She  moves  among  them  like 


jFaiti)  47 

a  sister  of  Jesus  and  a  friend  of  God ;  and 
of  her  the  Master  says,  "  Inasmuch  as  she 
hath  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these 
my  brethren,  she  hath  done  it  unto  me." 

Here  are  two  men  praying.  One  stands 
upon  the  corner  of  the  street,  correct,  punc- 
tilious; at  the  appointed  time  he  lifts  his 
hands,  he  raises  his  voice  that  he  may  be 
heard  of  men.  The  other  kneels  in  the 
dust,  ignorant,  stannnering,  feeble ;  he  lifts 
his  face  to  Christ  and  says,  "  Lord,  I  believe, 
help  thou  mine  unbelief."  And  that  broken, 
stammering  cry  of  honest  faith  pleases  God, 
and  brings  the  blessing  which  would  never 
come  to  the  Pharisee  though  he  stood  on  the 
street  corner  till  the  crack  of  doom. 

Let  us  never  be  so  foolish  as  to  think  that 
it  makes  no  difference  whether  we  believe  or 
not.  Faith  is  the  soul  of  conduct ;  faith  is 
the  bloom,  the  breath,  the  vital  power  of 
religion ;  without  it,  virtue  is  the  alabaster 
box,  empty ;  faith  is  the  precious  ointment 
whose  fragrance  fills  the  house.  Therefore 
without  faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  God. 

III.  Finally,  faith  is  necessary  because  it 
is  the  only  possible  way  of  contact  between 
God  and  man,  the  only  way  in  which  He 


48  iFaitI) 

can  draw  near  to  us,  and  save  and  bless  us. 
And  that,  if  you  will  believe  it,  is  the  one 
thing  that  He  most  desires  to  do.  There  is 
no  compulsion  laid  upon  Him.  He  does  not 
act  as  one  who  is  performing  an  indifferent 
task.  He  is  so  good  that  He  longs  to  deliver 
us  from  sin  and  death,  to  bring  us  to  him- 
self, to  give  us  a  place  in  his  happy  king- 
dom. This  is  his  glory  and  his  delight : 
to  rescue  the  perishing,  to  raise  the  fallen, 
to  forgive  the  sinful,  to  give  life  to  the  dying. 
He  loves  this  work  so  much  that  He  sent 
his  own  dear  Son  into  the  world  to  accom- 
plish it.  And  nothing  that  you  can  do  will 
please  Him  so  much  as  simply  to  let  Him 
save  you,  and  help  you  to  be  good. 

Think  for  a  moment :  what  can  you  do  for 
any  one  who  does  not  trust  you,  who  does 
not  believe  in  you  ?  Nothing.  That  barrier 
of  mistrust  stands  like  a  wall  of  ice  between 
you  and  the  soul  that  you  desire  to  help.  Is 
there  anything  that  wounds  you  more  than 
to  be  doubted  and  denied,  and  thrust  away 
in  suspicion  or  indifference  ?  Truly  that  is 
the  deepest  and  most  bitter  pain.  Is  there 
anything  that  pleases  you  more  than  to  be 
trusted,  —  to  have  even  a  little  child  look  up 


Mth  49 

into  your  face,  and  put  out  its  liand  to  meet 
yours,  and  come  to  you  confidingly  ?  By  so 
much  as  God  is  better  than  you  are,  by  so 
much  more  does  He  love  to  be  trusted. 

Yes,  I  Iniow  you  are  trying  to  be  good,  — 
fitfully,  imperfectly,  yet  still  trying.  Bat 
there  is  something  else  that  God  would  have 
you  do  first.  He  would  have  you  believe 
that  He  wants  you  to  be  good,  that  He  is 
willing  to  help  you  to  be  good,  that  He  has 
sent  his  Son  to  make  you  good. 

There  is  a  hand  stretched  out  to  you,  —  a 
hand  with  a  wound  in  the  palm  of  it.  Reach 
out  the  hand  of  your  faith  to  clasp  it,  and 
cling  to  it,  for  without  faith  it  is  impossible 
to  please  God. 


Ill 

COURAGE 

ait  on  tilt  larK :  ht  of  ffooU  cottrap,  anU  It 
0l)aU  0trcn5tl)cn  tljine  [)eart/* 

Psalm  xxvii.  14. 


*'  ffllait  on  t\}t  lort :  fie  of  poU  cottraje,  anU  Je 
6l)aU  flitrcngtiien  t|)ine  lieart/* 

This  is  a  sermon  about  courage,  one  of 
the  simplest  and  most  straightforward  of  the 
virtues;  necessary,  and  therefore  possible, 
for  every  true  and  noble  human  life. 

It  is  a  quality  that  we  admire  by  instinct. 
We  need  no  teacher  to  tell  us  that  it  is  a 
fine  thing  to  be  brave.  The  lack  of  cour- 
age is  universally  recognized  as  a  grave  de- 
fect in  character.  If  in  our  own  hearts  we 
feel  the  want  of  it,  if  we  cannot  find  enough 
of  it  to  enable  us  to  face  the  dangers  and 
meet  the  responsibilities  and  fight  the  bat- 
tles of  life,  we  are  not  only  sorry,  but  se- 
cretly ashamed.  The  absence  of  courage  is 
a  fault  that  few  are  willing  to  confess.  We 
naturally  conceal  it,  and  cover  it  up,  and 
try  to  keep  it  secret  even  from  ourselves. 
We  invent  favourable  names  for  it,  which 
are  only  unconscious  excuses.     We  call  it 


54  Cottraffe 


prudence,  or  respectability,  or  conservor 
tism,  or  economy,  or  worldly  wisdom,  or  tlie 
instinct  of  seK-preservation.  For  in  truth 
there  is  nothing  that  we  are  more  reluctant 
to  admit  than  cowardice ;  and  there  is  no 
virtue  which  we  would  more  gladly  possess 
and  prove  than  courage. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  an  honourable 
virtue.  Men  have  always  loved  and  praised 
it.  It  lends  a  glory  and  a  splendour  to  the 
life  in  which  it  dwells,  —  lifts  it  up  and  en- 
nobles it,  and  crowns  it  with  light.  The 
world  delights  in  heroism,  even  in  its  rudest 
forms  and  lowest  manifestations.  Among 
the  animals  we  create  a  sort  of  aristocracy 
on  the  basis  of  courage,  and  recognize,  in  the 
fearlessness  of  the  game  beasts  and  birds 
and  fishes,  a  claim  to  rank  above  the  timor- 
ous, furtive,  spiritless  members  of  creation. 

And  in  man  bravery  is  always  fine.  We 
salute  it  in  our  enemies.  A  daring  foe 
is  respected,  and  though  we  must  fight 
against  him  we  can  still  honour  his  courage, 
and  almost  forget  the  conflict  in  our  admira- 
tion for  his  noble  bearing.  That  is  what  Dr. 
Johnson  meant  by  saying,  "  I  love  a  good 
hater."     The  enemy  who   slinks  and  plots 


Cottraffe  55 


and  conceals  —  makes  traps  and  ambus- 
cades, seeks  to  lead  his  opponent  into  dan- 
gers which  he  himself  would  never  dare  to 
face  —  is  despicable,  serpentine,  and  con- 
temptible. But  he  who  stands  up  boldly 
against  his  antagonist  in  any  conflict,  physi- 
cal, social,  or  spiritual,  and  deals  fair  blows, 
and  uses  honest  arguments,  and  faces  the 
issues  of  warfare,  is  a  man  to  love  even  across 
the  chasm  of  strife.  An  outspoken  infidel 
is  far  nobler  than  a  disguised  skeptic.  A 
brave,  frank,  manly  foe  is  infinitely  better 
than  a  false,  weak,  timorous  friend. 

The  literature  of  courage  has  always  been 
immensely  popular,  and  the  history  of  the 
brave  is  written  in  letters  of  gold.  It  is  this 
that  men  have  loved  to  read  in  the  strange, 
confused  annals  of  war,  —  deeds  of  self -for- 
getful daring  which  leap  from  the  smoke 
and  clamour  of  battle,  and  sliine  in  the  sud- 
den making  of  splendid  names.  It  is  the 
quality  which  levels  youth  with  age,  gives  to 
woman  the  force  of  manhood,  equalizes  the 
peasant  with  the  noble,  and  consumes  all  out- 
ward distinctions  in  the  flame  of  glory.  The 
boy  Casablanca  keeping  the  solitary  deck  of 
the  burning  vessel  rather  than  disobey  his 


56  Cottrap 


father's  commands ;  the  brave  Lady  Douglas 
thrusting  her  tender  arm  through  the  staple 
of  the  door  to  defend  her  king  from  the  as- 
sassin ;  Leonidas  at  Thermopylae,  and  Hora- 
tius  at  the  bridge,  and  the  Six  Hundred  at 
Balaklava ;  old  Cranmer  bathing  his  hands 
in  fire  at  the  martyr's  stake,  and  young 
Stephen  praying  fearlessly  for  his  murder- 
ers ;  Florence  Nightingale  facing  fever  in 
Crimean  hospitals  ;  Father  Damien  braving 
leprosy  in  the  Islands  of  the  Sea ;  young  men 
and  maidens,  old  men  and  matrons,  fighting, 
suffering,  achieving,  resisting,  enduring,  dar- 
ing, living,  and  dying  —  it  is  the  spark  of 
heroism  that  kindles  their  names  into  the 
blaze  of  light,  for  everywhere  and  always 
courage  is  an  honourable  virtue. 

In  the  second  place,  courage  is  a  service- 
able virtue.  There  is  hardly  any  place  in 
which  it  is  not  useful.  There  is  no  type  of 
character,  no  sphere  of  action,  in  which  there 
is  not  room  and  need  for  it. 
J  Genius  is  talent  set  on  fire  by  courage. 

Fidelity  is  simply  daring  to  be  true  in  small 
things  as  well  as  great.  As  many  as  are 
the  conflicts  and  perils  and  hardships  of  life, 
so  many  are  the  uses  and  the  forms  of  cour- 


Cottraffe  57 


age.  It  is  necessary,  indeed,  as  the  pro- 
tector and  defender  of  all  the  other  virtues. 
Courage  is  the  standing  army  of  the  soul 
which  keeps  it  from  conquest,  pillage,  and 
slavery. 

Unless  we  are  brave  we  can  hardly  be 
truthful,  or  generous,  or  just,  or  pure,  or 
kind,  or  loyal.  "  Few  persons,"  says  a  wise 
observer,  "have  the  courage  to  appear  as 
good  as  they  really  are."  You  must  be 
brave  in  order  to  fulfil  your  own  possibili- 
ties of  virtue.  Courage  is  essential  to  guard 
the  best  qualities  of  the  soid,  and  to  clear 
the  way  for  their  action,  and  make  them 
move  with  freedom  and  vigour. 

"  Courage,  the  highest  gift,  that  scorns  to  bend 
To  mean  devices  for  a  sordid  end ; 
Courage,  an  independent  spark  from  Heaven's  throne, 
By  which  the  soul  stands  raised,  triumphant,  high,  alone ; 
The  spring  of  all  true  acts  is  seated  here, 
As  falsehoods  draw  their  sordid  birth  from  fear." 

If  we  desire  to  be  good,  we  must  first 
of  all  desire  to  be  brave,  that  against  all  op- 
position, scorn,  and  danger  we  may  move 
straight  onward  to  do  the  right. 

In  the  third  place,  courage  is  a  comfort- 
able virtue.  It  fills  the  soul  with  inward 
peace  and  strength  ;  in  fact  this  is  just  what 


58  Cottraffe 


it  is,  —  courage  is  simply  strength  of  heart. 
Subjection  to  fear  is  weakness,  bondage, 
feverish  unrest.  To  be  afraid  is  to  have  no 
soul  that  we  can  call  our  own ;  it  is  to  be 
at  the  beck  and  call  of  alien  powers,  to  be 
chained  and  driven  and  tormented ;  it  is  to 
lose  the  life  itseK  in  the  anxious  care  to  keep 
it.  Many  people  are  so  afraid  to  die  that 
they  have  never  begun  to  live.  But  courage 
emancipates  us  and  gives  us  to  ourselves, 
that  we  may  give  ourselves  freely  and  with- 
out fear  to  God.  How  sweet  and  clear  and 
steady  is  the  life  into  which  this  virtue  enters 
day  by  day,  not  merely  in  those  great  flashes 
of  excitement  which  come  in  the  moments  of 
crisis,  but  in  the  presence  of  the  hourly  per- 
ils, the  continual  conflicts.  Not  to  tremble  at 
the  shadows  wliich  surround  us,  not  to  shrink 
from  the  foes  who  threaten  us,  not  to  hesitate 
and  falter  and  stand  despairing  still  among 
the  perplexities  and  trials  of  our  life,  but  to 
move  steadily  onward  without  fear,  if  only 
we  can  keep  ourselves  without  reproach,  — 
surely  that  is  what  the  Psalmist  meant  by 
good  courage  and  strength  of  heart,  and  it  is 
a  most  comfortable,  pleasant,  peaceful,  and 
happy  virtue. 


Couraffe  59 


Let  us  talk  together  for  a  while  about 
this  virtue  and  consider  what  we  mean  by 
it,  how  we  can  obtain  it,  and  what  good  it 
will  do  us. 

I.  First  of  all,  let  us  try  to  understand  the 
difference  between  courage  and  some  of  the 
things  which  are  often  mistaken  for  it. 

There  is  a  sharp  distinction  between  cour- 
age and  recklessness.  The  reckless  man  is 
ignorant;  he  rushes  into  danger  without 
hesitation,  simply  because  he  does  not  know 
what  danger  means.  The  brave  man  is  in- 
telligent ;  he  faces  danger  because  he  under- 
stands it  and  is  prepared  to  meet  it.  The 
drunkard  who  runs,  in  the  delirium  of  intoxi- 
cation, into  a  burning  house  is  not  brave ; 
he  is  only  stupid.  But  the  clear-eyed  hero 
who  makes  his  way,  with  every  sense  alert 
and  every  nerve  strung,  into  the  hell  of 
flames  to  rescue  some  little  child,  proves  his 
courage. 

The  more  keenly  we  are  awake  to  the 
perils  of  life,  the  higher  and  grander  is  the 
possibility  of  being  truly  brave.  To  drift 
along,  as  some  people  do,  through  this 
world  of  sin,  as  if  there  were  nothing  in  it 
to  fear ;  to  slide  easily  downward,  as  some 


60  Cntitaffe 


people  do,  to  the  gate  of  death,  as  if  there 
were  nothing  beyond  it  to  fear ;  to  sport  and 
dance,  and  eat  and  drink  and  sleep,  as  some 
people  do,  under  the  arch  of  heaven,  as  if 
there  were  no  One  above  it  to  fear,  —  what  is 
this  but  the  part  of  the  fool  who  hath  said 
in  his  heart,  "  There  is  no  God,  there  is  no 
sin,  there  is  no  judgment "  ?  But  to  face  the 
temptations  and  perplexities  and  dangers  of 
the  world  without  yielding  to  fear ;  to  pass, 
without  trembling,  by  the  dark  portals  of 
the  grave  in  a  faith  that  is  stronger  than 
fear ;  to  dare  to  live  in  the  presence  of  the 
holy,  mighty  God  in  the  confidence  of  a 
love  that  casteth  out  fear,  —  that  is  courage. 
Then  there  is  another  sharp  distinction 
between  courage  and  insensibility.  Some 
natures  are  so  constituted  that  they  do  not 
feel  jDain  very  keenly.  Their  nerves  are 
sluggish  and  deeply  hidden.  This  may  be 
an  advantage  or  a  disadvantage  ;  for  cer- 
tainly, if  they  escape  some  possibiKties  of 
suffering,  they  must  also  lose  many  possibili- 
ties of  enjoyment.  But  one  thing  is  sure  :  to 
persons  of  this  temperament,  fear  is  compara- 
tively a  stranger.  They  can  move  forward 
almost  with  indifference  in  situations  where 


QDouraffe  61 


a  more  sensitive  nature  would  be  profoundly 
agitated.  Now  we  must  not  suppose  for  a 
moment  that  this  insensibility  makes  them 
brave.  It  simply  exempts  them  in  some 
measure  from  the  necessity  of  courage.  The 
bravest  soul  is  that  which  feels  the  tremor 
and  resists  it,  shrinks  from  the  flame  and 
faces  it.  Never  was  a  better  soldier  than  the 
old  French  marshal  Montluc,  who  said  that 
he  had  often  gone  into  battle  shaking  with 
fear,  and  had  recovered  courage  only  when  he 
had  said  a  prayer.  A  pale  face,  a  trembling 
hand,  yes,  even  a  heart  that  stands  still  with 
dread,  may  belong  to  a  hero  who  is  brave 
enough  to  carry  them  into  the  midst  of  con- 
flict without  faltering  or  failing,  straight  on 
to  victory  or  death.  Courage  does  not  con- 
sist in  the  absence  of  fear,  but  in  the  con- 
quest of  it. 

Take  it  in  little  things.  Here  is  the 
great,  dull,  heavy  dray-horse  ;  what  is  it  for 
him  to  move  stolidly  on  through  noises  which 
do  not  alarm  him,  and  past  strange  objects 
which  he  does  not  notice  ?  But  when  the 
high-mettled,  keen-sensed  thoroughbred  goes 
through  the  same  tumult,  and  past  the  same 
objects,  with  every  nerve  and  muscle  quiver- 


62  Catiraffe 


ing,  that  is  courage.  It  demands  no  great 
effort  for  tlie  voyageur^  who  is  inured  to 
hardships  and  trained  to  steadiness,  to  guide 
his  frail  canoe  through  the  foaming  rapids. 
But  for  a  woman  who  is  by  nature  sensitive 
and  timid,  to  sit  quiet  and  silent  in  the  boat, 
not  because  she  has  no  fear,  but  because  she 
will  not  yield  to  it,  —  that  is  brave. 

The  same  thing  is  true  in  moral  trials. 
There  are  some  people  to  whom  reproach 
and  ridicule  and  condemnation  mean  little. 
They  simply  do  not  care ;  they  are  pachyder- 
matous. But  there  are  others  to  whom  the 
unkind  word  is  like  a  blow,  and  the  sneer 
like  a  sword-thrust,  and  the  breath  of  con- 
tempt like  the  heat  of  flames ;  and  when 
they  endure  these  things  and  face  them,  and 
will  not  be  driven  by  them  from  the  path  of 
duty,  they  are  truly  courageous. 

Do  you  understand  what  I  mean  ?  Tim- 
idity is  no  more  inconsistent  with  courage 
than  doubt  is  inconsistent  with  faith.  For 
as  faith  is  simply  the  overriding  and  sub- 
jugating of  doubt  by  believing  where  you 
cannot  prove,  so  courage  is  simply  the  con- 
quest and  suppression  of  fear  by  going 
straight  on  in  the  path  of  duty  and  love. 


Couraffe  63 


There  is  one  more  distinction  that  needs 
to  be  drawn,  —  the  distinction  between  cour- 
age and  daring.  This  distinction  is  not  in 
kind,  but  in  degree.  For  daring  is  only  a 
rare  and  exceptional  kind  of  courage.  It 
is  for  great  occasions  ;  the  battle,  the  ship- 
wreck, the  conflagration.  It  is  an  inspi- 
ration ;  Emerson  calls  it  "  a  flash  of  moral 
genius."  But  courage  in  the  broader  sense 
is  an  every-day  virtue.  It  includes  the  pos- 
sibility of  daring,  if  it  be  called  for ;  but 
from  hour  to  hour,  in  the  long,  steady  run  of 
life,  courage  manifests  itself  in  quieter,  hum- 
bler forms,  —  in  patience  under  little  trials, 
in  perseverance  in  distasteful  labours,  in  en- 
durance of  suffering,  in  resistance  of  con- 
tinual and  familiar  temptations,  in  hope  and 
cheerfulness  and  activity  and  fidelity  and 
truthfuhiess  and  kindness,  and  such  sweet, 
homely  virtues  as  may  find  a  place  in  the 
narrowest  and  most  uneventful  life. 

There  is  no  duty  so  small,  no  trial  so 
slight,  that  it  does  not  afford  room  for  cour- 
age. It  has  a  meaning  and  value  for  every 
phase  of  existence  ;  for  the  workshop  and  for 
the  battlefield,  for  the  thronged  city  and 
for  the  lonely  desert,  for  the  sick-room  and 


64  Cottraffe 

for  the  market-place,  for  the  study  and  for 
the  counting-house,  for  the  church  and  for 
the  drawing-room.  There  is  courage  phy- 
sical, and  social,  and  moral,  and  intellec- 
tual,—  a  soldier's  courage,  a  doctor's  cour- 
age, a  lawyer's  courage,  a  preacher's  courage, 
a  nurse's  courage,  a  merchant's  courage,  a 
man's  courage,  a  woman's  courage,  —  for 
courage  is  just  strength  of  heart,  and  the 
strong  heart  makes  itself  felt  everywhere, 
and  lifts  up  the  whole  of  life,  and  enno- 
bles it,  and  makes  it  move  directly  to  its 
chosen  aim. 

II.  Now,  if  this  is  what  we  mean  by  cour- 
age, how  are  we  to  obtain  it  ?  What  is  it 
that  really  strengthens  the  heart  and  makes 
it  brave  ? 

Well,  there  are  many  lesser  things  that 
will  help  us,  such  as  a  simple  and  wholesome 
physical  life,  plain  food  and  vigorous  exer- 
cise, a  steady  regard  for  great  moral  princi- 
ples and  ideas,  a  healthful  course  of  reading, 
a  sincere  friendship  with  brave  and  true  and 
single-minded  men  and  women,  a  habit  of 
self-forgetfulness  and  consecration  to  duty. 
But  of  these  things  I  have  not  time  to  speak, 
for  there  is   something  greater  and  better 


Cauraffe  65 


than  any  of  these,  —  something  which  in  fact 
includes  them  all  and  sums  them  up  in  a 
a  word,  "  Wait  on  the  Lord."  That  is  the 
truest  and  deepest  source  of  courage.  To 
believe  that  He  is,  and  that  He  has  made  us 
for  himself ;  to  love  Him,  and  give  ourselves 
up  to  Him,  because  He  is  holy  and  true  and 
wise  and  good  and  brave  beyond  all  human 
thought ;  to  lean  upon  Him  and  trust  Him 
and  rest  in  Him,  with  confidence  that  He 
will  never  leave  us  nor  forsake  us  ;  to  work 
for  Him,  and  suffer  for  his  sake,  and  be 
faithful  to  his  service,  —  that  is  the  way 
to  learn  courage. 

Without  God  what  can  you  do  ?  You  are 
a  frail,  weak,  tempted,  mortal  creature.  The 
burdens  of  life  will  crush  you,  the  evils  of 
sin  will  destroy  you,  the  tempests  of  trouble 
will  overwhelm  you,  the  darkness  of  death 
will  engulf  you.  But  if  you  are  joined  to 
God,  you  can  resist  and  endure  and  fight 
and  conquer,  in  liis  strength.  This  is  what 
the  Psalmist  means  in  the  text,  "  Wait  on 
the  Lord,  be  of  good  courage,  and  He  shall 
strengthen  thy  heart."  So  runs  our  trans- 
lation. The  scholars  tell  us  that  it  ought 
to  read,   "  Be  of  good  courage  and  let  thy 


66  Courage 


heart  be  strong."  But  the  meaning  is  the 
same.  For  the  courage  comes  from  the 
waiting  on  God,  and  He  is  the  giver  of 
strength  to  the  heart. 

"  If  it  had  not  been  the  Lord  who  was  on 
our  side,  now  may  Israel  say,  then  the 
proud  waters  had  gone  over  our  souls."  It 
was  the  Lord  who  stood  by  them  and  sus- 
tained them  through  the  storm.  Hear 
Paul :  "  If  God  be  for  us,  who  can  be 
against  us  ?  "  And  again,  "  I  can  do  all 
things  through  Christ  who  strengtheneth 
me."  And  then  hear  Christ :  "  My  meat 
is  to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me,  and 
to  finish  his  work."  That  is  the  secret  of 
courage.  The  lamp  that  is  joined  to  the 
electric  current  glows  with  light.  The  soul 
that  is  joined  to  the  infinite  source  of  cour- 
age in  God,  burns  steadfast,  serene,  and 
inextinguishable  through  life  and  death. 

III.  And  now  let  us  ask,  how  will  that 
divine  courage  help  us  if  we  obtain  it? 
What  will  it  do  for  us  ? 

Everything.  There  is  no  good  thing  that 
we  reaUy  desire  and  need  that  will  not  be 
brought  nearer  to  us  by  this  strength  of 
heart.    Every  day  and   every  hour  of  our 


Cottrase  67 


lives  it  will  be  a  help,  a  joy,  a  treasure,  a 
blessing  to  us. 

You  men  have  to  go  through  with  your 
daily  toil,  and  face  the  perplexities  of  busi- 
ness life,  and  resist  the  temptations  to  dis- 
honesty and  meanness  and  uncleanness  which 
touch  you  on  every  side.  You  must  be  brave, 
and  if  you  are  brave  in  Christ  you  will  win. 

You  women  have  to  meet  your  daily  house- 
hold cares,  and  suffer  the  pains  and  trials 
which  belong  to  a  woman's  life,  and  re- 
strain your  lips  from  scandal  and  your  hearts 
from  jealousy  and  envy,  and  keep  your  souls 
up  above  the  deadening  influences  of  lux- 
ury and  frivolity  and  fashion.  You  must 
be  brave,  —  never  does  courage  shine  more 
brightly  than  in  a  true  woman,  —  and  if  you 
are  brave  you  will  "  adorn  the  doctrine  of 
God  our  Saviour  "  with  the  charm  of  pure, 
unselfish,  lovely  character  and  conduct  which 
is  a  rebuke  to  all  grossness  of  demeanour, 
and  an  encouragement  to  all  knighthood  and 
true  chivalry.  For  such  women  men  would 
even  dare  to  die. 

You  boys  and  girls  at  school,  young  men 
and  maidens  at  college,  have  to  do  your 
work  honestly,  and   speak  the  truth  fear- 


68  Cotiraffc 


lessly,  and  avoid  evil  companionship  stead- 
fastly, and  live  up  to  your  principles  mod- 
estly and  firmly.  You  must  be  brave,  and 
sometimes  very  brave,  to  do  this,  and  if  you 
have  the  right  courage  in  the  conflicts  of 
youth  you  will  be  trained  by  them  to  play  a 
noble  part  in  the  great  battle  of  life. 

And  the  preacher  who  speaks  to  you  has 
to  face  the  constant,  exhausting  demands  of 
a  minister's  life,  to  declare  the  divine  mes- 
sage without  fear  or  favour,  to  search  the 
Scriptures  and  tell  men  plainly  what  they 
teach,  without  regard  to  human  traditions ; 
caring  nothing  for  old  doctrines  or  new  doc- 
trines, but  simply  and  solely  for  the  truth  as 
it  is  in  Jesus,  and  following  it  with  absolute 
loyalty  whithersoever  it  may  lead.  Surely 
the  man  who  has  to  do  this  needs  courage, 
in  order  that  he  may  be  neither  ashamed  of 
the  old  nor  afraid  of  the  new,  but  always 
faithful  to  the  true. 

Indeed,  we  all  have  the  same  need.  For 
every  one  of  us,  there  is  nothing  more  de- 
sirable, nothing  more  necessary,  than  real 
strength  of  heart.  If  we  can  obtain  it  from 
the  divine  and  only  source,  it  will  make  our 
lives  straight   and  clean  and  fine.     It  will 


Cottraffe  69 


enable  us  to  follow  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  who 
was  not  only  the  piu'est  and  the  gentlest,  but 
also  the  bravest  Spirit  that  ever  dwelt  on 
earth. 

And  do  you  think,  if  that  kind  of  courage 
comes  into  our  hearts,  —  the  courage  of 
faith,  which  believes  in  spite  of  difficulties, 
and  fights  its  way  through  doubt  to  a  firmer 
assurance  ;  the  courage  of  confession,  which 
overcomes  all  dread  of  ridicule  or  reproach, 
and  is  not  ashamed  of  Christ  nor  of  his 
words,  but  ready  to  preach  the  Gospel  at 
Rome  also  ;  the  courage  of  life,  which  goes 
on  trying  to  be  good  in  spite  of  failures,  and 
holding  fast  to  the  ideal  in  spite  of  temp- 
tations, and  warring  for  the  right  in  spite  of 
heavy  odds,  and  bearing  the  appointed  bur- 
den in  spite  of  weariness,  straight  through  to 
the  end :  do  you  think  the  courage  of  death 
will  fail  us  ?  We  do  not  know  when  we  shall 
have  to  meet  that  last  conflict,  that  ultimate 
adventure.  But  when  the  hour  comes,  if  we 
have  been  brave  enough  to  live  aright,  we 
shall  be  brave  enough  to  die  at  peace. 

*'  Sunset  and  evening  star, 
And  one  clear  call  for  me  ! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar, 
When  I  put  out  to  sea, 


70  €mx^%t 


"  But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 
Too  full  for  sound  and  foam, 
When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 
Turns  again  home ! 

"  Twilight  and  evening  bell. 
And  after  that  the  dark  I 
And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell, 
When  I  embark ! 

*'  For  tho'  from  out  our  bourne  of  Time  and  Place 
The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 
I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 
When  I  have  crost  the  bar." 


IV 

POWER 

O  (BtiH,  t!)0tt  art  mp  0a\i ;  carip  toill  ^  secfe 
t^ee :  mp  finul  tMrfitctb  for  tj^ee*  ♦  ♦  .  Co  sec 
tf)P  potoer  anU  tbp  slorp,  so  ag  3f  lialje  gem  t^ee 
in  tbc  fianctuarp/* 

Psalm  Ixiii.  2. 

Q^5at  5  map  fenoto  ^im,  anU  tlje  potocr  of  j^ifi 
resurrection/' 

Phil.  iii.  10. 


♦*  Co  see  ti)p  potoer  anU  tlv  fflorp,  fio  ag  S  Iiate 
6ccn  t^cc  in  tit  canctuarj)/' 

"Cl)at  J  map  fenoto  |)tm,  anU  t^c  potocr  of  ^is 
resurrection/* 

Heee  are  two  men  separated  by  centuries, 
—  the  psalmist  of  the  old  dispensation  and 
the  apostle  of  the  new  dispensation,  —  utter- 
ing the  deepest  desire  of  their  hearts.     In 
both  of  them  we  find  that  there  is  an  earnest 
and   ardent    longing   to    see,  to    know,  the 
power  of  God.     In  both  of  them  there  is  the 
recognition  of  a  place,  a  way,  in  which  that 
power  is  manifested  and  in  which  it  may  be 
discerned ;  in  both  of  them  there  is  the  con- 
fident  expectation    that  the   knowledge   of 
that   power,  when   it    is    attained,  will   be 
potent  in  its  spiritual  effect  upon  their  lives. 
Now  we  may  be  quite  sure  that  the  thing 
for  which  David  and  Paul  longed  so  ardently 
is  something  which  we  also  ought  to  desire, 
and  pray  for,  and  seek  after.    If  they  needed 


74  JPotoet 

it,  we  need  it.  If  it  was  possible  for  them 
to  find  it,  it  is  possible  for  us.  If  it  was 
good  for  them,  it  will  be  good  for  us.  Let 
U3  think  about  it  for  a  little  while  ;  for  it 
is  only  by  thinking  about  great  and  good 
things  that  we  come  to  love  them,  and  it  is 
only  by  loving  them  that  we  come  to  long 
for  them,  and  it  is  only  by  longing  for 
them  that  we  are  impelled  to  seek  after  them, 
and  it  is  only  by  seeking  after  them  that 
they  become  ours  and  we  enter  into  vital 
experience  of  their  beauty  and  blessedness. 

Is  not  this  the  reason  why  our  lives  often 
seem  so  narrow  and  poor  and  weak,  why  they 
have  such  a  sense  of  limitation  and  constric- 
tion in  them,  why  their  interests  seem  so 
trivial,  their  possibilities  so  small,  their  re- 
sults so  feeble,  why  we  often  appear  to  our- 
selves barren  in  thought  and  dry  in  feeling, 
empty  of  hope  and  bankrupt  in  power  ?  Is 
it  not  because  we  think  so  much  of  the  things 
that  are  petty  and  narrow  and  barren  and 
transient,  and  so  little  of  the  things  that  are 
great  and  fruitful  and  glorious  and  eternal  ? 
These  dry  and  thirsty  lives  of  ours,  these 
dull,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable  lives  of  ours, 
these  paltry  lives,  —  whose  fault  is  it  that 


|3otoer  75 

they  are  so?  Ours,  and  ours  alone.  For 
the  riches  of  an  infinite  wealth  and  the  pow- 
ers of  an  immeasurable  strength  are  all  about 
us  waiting  for  us  to  possess  and  use  them. 
But  there  is  only  one  way  in  which  we  can 
enter  into  their  possession,  and  that  is  by 
thinking  about  them,  by  considering  them 
earnestly  and  steadily  until  they  draw  us  to 
themselves. 

The  strength  of  your  life  is  measured  by 
the  strength  of  your  will.  But  the  strength 
of  your  will  is  just  the  strength  of  the  wish 
that  lies  behind  it.  And  the  strength  of 
your  wish  depends  upon  the  sincerity  and 
earnestness  and  tenacity  with  which  you  fix 
your  attention  upon  the  things  which  are 
really  great  and  worthy  to  be  loved.  This 
is  what  the  Apostle  means  when  he  says,  at 
the  close  of  his  description  of  a  life  which  is 
strong,  and  inwardly  renewed,  and  growing 
in  glory  even  in  the  midst  of  affliction,  — 
"while  we  look  not  at  the  things  which 
are  seen,  but  at  the  things  which  are  un- 
seen." It  is  while  we  look  that  we  learn 
to  love.  It  is  by  loving  that  we  learn  to 
seek.  And  it  is  in  seeking  that  we  find  and 
are  blessed. 


76  ipotoer 

Lot  us  be  sure,  then,  that  it  is  no  mere 
profitless  speculation  about  mysteries  of  no 
practical  value  to  which  our  double  text 
invites  us.  It  is  a  thought  that  enriches, 
ennobles,  strengthens,  blesses.  It  is  a  medi- 
tation by  which  our  lives  will  be  enlarged  and 
uplifted  and  invigorated.  It  is  for  the  sake 
of  a  joy  which  will  be  like  music  in  our  soids 
among  life's  discords  ;  it  is  for  the  sake  of  a 
strength  of  spirit  which  will  be  to  us  like  a 
wind  from  heaven  sending  us  forward  on  our 
course  as  sliips  that  cleave  the  waves  and 
triumph  against  the  tides  ;  it  is  in  order  that 
we  may  "  have  life,  and  have  it  more  abun- 
dantly," that  we  are  asked  to  think  about  the 
powerful  knowledge  of  the  power  of  God. 

I.  We  may  inquire,  first,  why  should  we 
wish  to  see  and  know  the  power  of  God  ? 

Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  vision  of 
power  is  always  wonderful  and  admirable 
and,  in  a  certain  sense,  beautiful,  and  there- 
fore a  thing  to  be  desired  for  its  own  sake. 
The  perception  of  a  mighty  force  in  action, 
even  in  the  physical  world,  confers  a  high 
and  noble  pleasure  on  the  mind.  When  the 
force  is  sudden  and  violent,  as  in  the  case  of 
a  great  tempest,  our  pleasure  in  beholding  it 


Potoer  77 

is  mixed  with  awe,  it  is  a  solemn  and  trem- 
bling deliglit ;  it  may  be  overshadowed  with 
fear,  or  with  pity  for  the  misfortunes  of 
those  who  have  been  overwhelmed  by  the 
storm ;  yet  the  force  in  itself  is  magnificent, 
and  the  sight  of  it  thrills  and  expands  the 
soul.  But  when  it  is  an  orderly  and  benefi- 
cent force  that  we  behold,  then  the  vision  is 
one  of  pure  and  unmingled  joy.  How  glo- 
rious, for  example,  is  the  sight  of  a  great 
river  sweeping  down  from  its  source  among 
the  mountains  to  its  resting-place  in  the  sea. 
How  it  forces  its  way  among  the  hills,  cut- 
ting through  the  rocks  and  carving  a  channel 
for  itseK  in  the  solid  earth,  leaping  boldly 
from  the  cliffs,  and  rushing  down  the  steep 
inclines  with  an  energy  which  needs  but  to 
be  harnessed  to  do  the  work  of  a  million 
men,  —  this  is  power,  we  say,  power  visible, 
and  it  is  a  grand  thing  to  see.  And  the  same 
thing  is  true  of  the  resistless  tides  of  the 
ocean  on  which  we  look  with  unending  won- 
der and  pleasure ;  true  also  of  the  might  of 
the  imprisoned  giant  Steam  as  we  see  it 
whirling  the  wheels  of  some  great  engine 
and  driving  the  vast  ship  by  day  and  night 
through  leagues  of  rolling  waters. 


78  JJotoer 

But  it  is  far  more  true  of  those  forces 
•which  are  more  silent  and  secret,  like  the 
heat  of  the  sun,  or  the  force  of  gravitation. 
We  become  aware  of  these  forces  not  so 
much  through  our  senses  alone  as  through 
our  thought,  our  inward  perception.  Look 
at  a  blade  of  corn  cleaving  the  ground,  and 
remember  that  all  over  the  world  countless 
millions  upon  millions  of  them  are  pushing 
upward  with  a  power  which  taken  altogether 
is  simply  incalculable ;  and  all  this  lifting  of 
tons  of  bread  out  of  the  earth  to  the  hand  of 
man  is  simply  the  drawing  of  the  sun  that 
shines  above  you.  Look  at  the  starry  heavens 
on  a  clear  still  night  ;  companies,  regiments, 
battalions,  armies  of  worlds,  aU  marching 
without  haste  and  without  rest,  keeping  pace 
in  their  majestic  orbits  ;  and  the  force  that 
binds  them  to  their  courses  is  the  same  that 
quietly  loosens  the  ripened  apple  from  the 
bough  and  drops  it  at  your  feet.  Surely  a 
thought  like  this  is  a  vision  of  power,  and  it 
is  good  for  the  soul. 

But  it  is  doubly  good  to  know  that  it  is 
all  the  power  of  God.  To  understand  that 
all  the  mighty  energy  which  throbs  and  pulses 
through  the  universe,  comes  from  Him,  that 


Potoer  79 

force  is  but  tlie  effluence  of  his  will,  and 
law  but  the  expression  of  bis  wisdom ;  to 
stand  before  some  vast  manifestation  of 
power  in  nature  and  feel  that  it  is  only  an 
infinitesimal  fraction,  only  a  passing  play  of 
the  omnipotence  of  God ;  to  see  Him  hurl 
Niagara  into  the  gulf  more  easily  than  you 
would  pour  a  glass  of  water  on  the  ground, 
—  is  good  for  the  soul.  It  humbles  and 
exalts.  It  begets  that  awe  of  spirit  which 
is  essential  to  true  religion.  We  want  a 
mighty  God,  one  who  can  hold  the  winds 
and  the  waves  in  the  hoUow  of  his  hand. 
And  for  our  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  a 
deeper  reverence  and  a  firmer  confidence 
towards  Him,  we  ought  to  wish  to  see  the 
evidence  of  divine  power  in  the  great  ele- 
mental forces  of  nature. 

But  there  is  another  kind  of  power  stiU 
more  wonderful,  still  more  impressive  than 
that  of  which  we  have  been  speaking.  It  is 
spiritual  power,  —  the  power  which  is  mani- 
fested in  the  conquest  of  evil,  in  the  triumph 
of  virtue,  in  the  achievements  and  victories 
of  a  moral  being.  This  is  grander  and  more 
admirable  than  any  physical  force  that  has 
ever  acted  upon  the  universe  of  matter. 


80  potucr 

"  For  tho'  the  giant  ages  heave  the  hill 
And  break  the  shore,  and  evermore 
Make  and  break,  and  work  their  will ; 
Tho'  world  on  world  in  myriad  myriads  roll 
Around  us,  each  with  different  powers 
And  other  forms  of  life  than  ours, 
What  know  we  greater  than  the  soul  ?  " 

The  vision  of  spiritual  power,  even  as  we 
see  it  in  tlie  imperfect  manifestations  of  hu- 
man life,  is  ennobling  and  uplifting.  The 
rush  of  courage  along  the  perilous  path  of 
duty  is  finer  than  the  foaming  leap  of  the 
torrent  from  the  crag.  Integrity  resisting 
temptation  overtops  the  mountains  in  gran- 
deur. Love,  giving  and  blessing  without 
stint,  has  a  beauty  and  a  potency  of  which 
the  sunlight  is  but  a  faint  and  feeble  image. 
When  we  see  these  things  they  thrill  us 
with  joy ;  they  enlarge  and  enrich  our  souls. 

And  if  that  is  true,  how  much  more  satis- 
fying and  strengthening  must  it  be  to  behold 
the  spiritual  power  of  God  ?  For  God  also 
is  a  soul,  the  Great  Soul ;  the  essence  of  his 
being  is  not  physical  but  moral ;  and  the 
secret  of  his  strength  is  in  his  holiness, 
righteousness,  justice,  goodness,  mercy,  and 
love.  To  know  something  of  the  force  of 
the  great  Spirit ;  to  see  that  there  is  no 


JJotocr  81 

temptation  that  can  even  shake  the  strong 
foundation  of  his  equity,  no  evil  that  can 
finally  resist  the  victorious  sweep  of  his  holy 
will,  no  falsehood  that  can  withstand  the 
penetrating  flash  of  his  truth,  nothing  that 
can  limit  or  exhaust  the  great  tide  of  his 
love ;  to  catch  sight  of  the  workings  of  One 
who  is  omnipotent  against  all  foes  and  there- 
fore triumphant  over  the  last  enemy,  death, 
—  that  is  a  vision  of  joy  and  power  far 
beyond  all  others,  and  therefore  it  is  to  be 
desired  and  prayed  for  and  sought  after  with 
the  whole  heart. 

But,  after  all,  we  have  not  yet  touched  the 
deepest  and  strongest  reason  why  w^e  should 
long  to  see  and  know  the  power  of  God. 
We  have  been  moving  hitherto  upon  the  sur- 
face ;  let  us  pierce  now  to  the  centre.  The 
great  reason  why  we  need  to  consider  God's 
power  is  because  we  are  utterly  dependent 
on  that  power  for  the  salvation  of  our  souls. 
Without  it  there  is  no  peace,  no  hope,  no 
certainty.  Unless  God  is  mighty  to  save, 
we  can  never  be  saved. 

The  religion  of  the  Bible  differs  from  all 
others  in  two  points.  The  first  is,  that  it 
makes    salvation  the   hardest  thing   in  the 


82  foiser 

world.     The  second  is,  that  it  makes  salva- 
tion the  easiest  thing  in  the  world. 

How  lofty,  how  inaccessible  is  the  stand- 
ard of  holiness  revealed  in  this  religion. 
How  immense  are  its  requirements  and  condi- 
tions. Other  religions  set  before  us  ideals 
which  seem  by  comparison  like  the  foothills 
of  the  Jura,  somewhat  more  elevated  indeed 
than  the  surrounding  valleys,  but  still  smooth 
and  easy,  with  gradual  paths  and  footholds. 
But  Christianity  lifts  Mont  Blanc  before  our 
eyes,  serene,  remote,  awful  in  its  dazzling 
splendour,  and  bids  us  climb  to  holiness 
without  which  no  man  shall  see  God.  *'  Be 
ye  perfect,  even  as  your  father  which  is  in 
heaven  is  perfect."  What  hope  is  there  of 
attaining  to  that  shining  height  ? 

I  wonder  if  any  of  you  have  ever  had  the 
feeling  that  has  come  to  me  in  reading 
Christ's  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  It  is  a  feel- 
ing of  great  distance  and  almost  intolerable 
remoteness,  —  a  feeling  as  if  one  should  come 
to  a  mighty  cliff,  towering  far  up  into  heaven, 
crowned  with  eternal  beauty  and  radiance, 
and  hear  a  voice  crying  from  that  far  height, 
"  Come  up  hither  and  dwell  with  me ! " 
When  I  listen  to  those  wonderful  beatitudes, 


Potocr  83 

when  I  hear  those  searching  demands  for  a 
purity  which  is  stainless  in  deed,  in  word,  in 
thought,  and  in  feeling,  when  I  see  hov*r 
strait  is  the  gate  and  how  narrow  is  the  way 
that  leadeth  unto  life,  a  sense  of  utter  help- 
lessness sweeps  through  me  and  my  spirit  is 
overwhelmed  within  me. 

And  is  not  the  same  thing  true  even  when 
we  take  shorter  and  more  limited  views  of 
the  duties  and  requirements  of  the  Christian 
life  ?  Here  are  these  faults  and  vices  and 
evil  habits  with  which  we  have  been  strug- 
gling. We  have  used  all  the  force  that  we 
have  against  them,  and  yet  they  are  not  ex- 
tirpated. How  shall  they  ever  be  conquered  ? 
Is  it  not  a  hopeless  conflict  ?  Here  we  have 
been  trying  to  do  our  dut}^,  and  putting  all 
our  hearts  into  the  effort  to  be  good  and  to 
do  good,  and  yet  so  little  is  accomplished,  so 
far  do  we  come  short.  More  must  be  done  ; 
we  must  be  better  ;  we  must  live  higher  and 
holier  and  more  useful  lives.  But  where  is 
strength  to  come  from  since  we  have  already 
used  all  that  we  possess  ?  How  shall  we  over- 
come greater  difficulties  when  we  have  already 
taxed  ourselves  to  the  uttermost  in  coming 
thus  far?  how  render  larger  service  when 


84  IJotocr 

we  have  already  strained  our  powers  to  the 
breaking-point  ?  Next  year's  temptations, 
how  shall  we  conquer  them?  Next  year's 
work,  how  shall  we  do  it  ? 

Not  even  the  wise  and  needful  reminder 
that  the  Christian  life  is  gradual  is  sufficient 
to  deliver  us  from  this  sense  of  helplessness. 
It  is  true,  of  course,  that  "heaven  is  not 
reached  at  a  single  bound,"  that  only  to-day's 
burdens  are  to  be  borne  to-day,  that  growth 
in  grace  is  like  the  blade  and  the  ear  and 
the  full  corn  in  the  ear;  and  it  helps  us 
immensely  to  remember  this.  But,  after  all, 
this  does  not  quite  reach  the  heart  of  our 
trouble.  Even  a  power  which  is  to  be  grad- 
ually exercised  has  its  limits.  Steam  can 
do  so  much,  and  no  more.  Electricity  can  do 
so  much,  and  no  more.  But  the  Christian 
life  is  unlimited ;  it  rises  forever ;  it  ad- 
vances without  end;  its  goal  is  perfection. 
What  does  it  profit  the  blade  of  corn  to  go 
on  maturing  its  poor  little  kernels,  if  at  last 
it  will  be  required  to  bear  some  celestial  and 
imperishable  fruit?  What  does  it  advan- 
tage the  pilgrim  to  climb  painfully  the  lov/er 
slopes,  if  the  summit  of  the  pass  is  inaccessi- 
ble ?     Some  little  human  goodness,  some  ad- 


JJotocr  85 

vance  in  virtue,  we  may  perhaps  attain ;  but 
a  perfect  holiness  is  out  of  our  reach.  Look 
at  heaven,  —  a  kingdom  of  unsullied  love  ; 
look  at  the  life  of  the  glorified  saints,  sor- 
rowless,  tearless,  sinless,  dwelling  in  perfect 
and  deathless  fellowship  with  God,  —  is  not 
that  beyond  our  power  ? 

Yes,  it  is  ;  and  yet  it  is  the  ideal  set  before 
us  in  the  word  of  God ;  and  therefore  we  say 
that  the  Bible  makes  salvation  the  hardest 
thing  in  the  world,  makes  it  something  that 
would  be  impossible  and  hopeless,  if  it  did 
not  at  the  same  time  make  it  easy  and  acces- 
sible and  possible  for  every  human  soul. 
For  this  is  what  the  Bible  does :  it  reveals 
that  our  salvation  is  all  of  God ;  it  reveals 
that  the  power  that  worketh  in  us  is  his 
pov/er,  and  that  it  is  able  to  do  exceeding 
abundantly  above  all  that  we  can  ask  or 
think. 

And  now  we  can  see  the  real  reason  why 
the  Psalmist  and  the  Apostle  prayed  so  ear- 
nestly to  know  the  power  of  God,  and  why 
the  truest  and  best  of  human  souls  have 
always  repeated  that  prayer  in  many  forms 
and  in  many  languages,  and  why  we  ought 
to  take  it  up  and  make  it  truly  our  own. 


86  Potoer 

It  is  because  that  power  is  our  liope  and  our 
salvation.  David  was  a  strong  man,  but  lie 
knew  that  he  could  never  conquer  sin  in  his 
own  strength.  Paul  was  a  strong  man,  but 
he  knew  that  he  was  often  unable  to  do  the 
things  that  he  would  ;  he  knew  that  he  was 
not  sufficient  for  these  things;  the  spirit 
was  willing,  but  the  flesh  was  weak ;  he  felt 
that  he  was  bound  like  a  captive  to  a  body  of 
sin  and  death.  And  so  they  both  longed  and 
cried,  so  we  should  long  and  cry,  to  know 
something  greater  than  human  strength,  even 
the  power  of  the  mighty  God  unto  salvation. 

II.  Well,  then,  we  come  to  our  second 
question  :  How  may  this  spiritual  power  of 
God  be  known  ? 

There  is  a  twofold  answer ;  and  yet  it 
is  really  one,  for  both  parts  of  it  belong  to- 
gether, and  the  latter  supplements  and  com- 
pletes the  former,  even  as  the  sunrise  is  the 
fulfilment  of  the  davtTi. 

The  Psalmist  says,  "  My  soul  thirsteth  for 
thee,  to  see  thy  power  and  thy  glory,  even  as 
I  have  seen  thee  in  the  sanctuary."  By  this 
I  think  he  means  that  the  power  of  God  may 
be  known  in  the  experiences  of  religion.  Not 
only  in  his  own  soul,  as  he  has  confessed  his 


|3otocr  87 

sin  and  found  pardon,  as  lie  has  prayed  for 
help  and  been  strengthened,  as  he  has  asked 
for  deliverance  and  been  lifted  out  of  the 
horrible  pit  and  the  miry  clay,  as  he  has 
implored  guidance  and  been  led  in  a  plain 
path,  —  not  only  in  his  own  soul,  but  also  in 
the  souls  of  his  brother-men  who  have  been 
delivered  in  the  same  perils,  and  helped  in 
the  same  conflicts,  and  strengthened  in  the 
same  sanctuary  by  humble  faith  and  earnest 
prayer  and  true  surrender  to  the  Spirit  of 
God,  the  Psalmist  has  seen  the  workings  of 
Divine  power,  and  so  he  longs  to  see  them 
again. 

The  same  vision  is  open  to  us.  Every 
grace  that  God  has  given  to  us  in  the  past, 
every  touch  of  his  life  that  has  quickened 
us,  every  assistance  of  his  Spirit  that  has 
supported  us  and  given  us  a  victory  over 
evil,  is  a  proof  and  evidence  of  his  power. 
Let  us  remember  and  trust. 

Was  it  long  ago,  or  was  it  but  yesterday, 
that  we  came  to  Him  with  that  heavy  weight 
of  sin,  and,  asking  for  relief,  found  it  ?  Come 
then,  and,  kneeling  at  his  feet  to-day,  with  a 
yet  heavier  load,  it  may  be,  prove  the  same 
almighty  strength  to  deliver  from  sin.     Was 


88  J3otocr 

it  long  ago,  or  was  it  yesterday,  that  we  felt 
that  thrill  of  new  life,  of  consecration,  of 
devotion  passing  through  us  as  we  gave  our- 
selves to  God?  Come  then,  and,  renewing 
the  gift  to-day,  feel  again  the  same  touch  of 
power.  Was  it  long  ago,  or  was  it  but  yes- 
terday, that  we  prayed  for  strength  to  per- 
form a  certain  duty,  to  bear  a  certain  burden, 
to  overcome  a  certain  temptation,  and  re- 
ceived it?  Do  we  dream  that  the  Divine 
force  was  exhausted  in  answering  that  one 
prayer?  No  more  than  the  great  river  is 
exhausted  by  turning  the  wheels  of  one  mill. 
Put  it  to  the  proof  again  with  to-day's  duty, 
to-day's  burden,  to-day's  temptation.  Thrust 
yourself  further  and  deeper  into  the  stream 
of  God's  power,  and  feel  it  again,  as  you 
have  felt  it  before,  able  to  do  exceeding 
abundantly.  Kemember  and  trust.  "  Thou 
hast  been  my  help :  leave  me  not,  neither 
forsake  me,  O  God  of  my  salvation." 

But  there  are  times  when  these  memories 
of  power  experienced  in  the  past  grow  faint 
and  dim,  times  when  it  seems  that  all  we  can 
see  behind  us  is  a  long  succession  of  failures, 
and  all  we  can  feel  now  is  a  pervading  sense 
of  weakness.     At  such  times  it  is  good  to 


JJotoer  89 

consider  the  mighty  things  which  God  has 
wrought  in  and  through  other  lives.  He  has 
lifted  the  hands  that  hung  down,  and  strength- 
ened the  feeble  knees.  He  has  made  the 
evil  good ;  the  sinful,  pure ;  the  selfish,  gener- 
ous ;  the  base,  noble.  He  has  made  apostles 
and  saints  out  of  men  and  women  that  the 
world  would  have  thrown  away  as  rubbish. 
Why,  the  whole  New  Testament  is  just  a 
record  of  that,  —  Peter,  the  weak  and  way- 
ward ;  Mary  Magdalen,  the  defiled ;  Zac- 
cheus,  the  worldly ;  Thomas,  the  despond- 
ent; Paul,  the  persecutor  and  blasphemer. 
What  God  could  do  in  the  first  century,  He 
can  do.  He  is  doing,  to-day. 

What  is  it  that  we  want  ?  Is  it  faith  to 
conquer  doubt  ?  There  are  men  and  women 
all  around  us  believing  in  the  face  of  dif- 
ficulties greater  than  ours.  Is  it  patience 
under  trials?  There  are  men  and  women 
all  around  us  who  are  bearing  trials  as 
heavy  as  ours  without  a  murmur.  Is  it 
usefulness  ?  Consider  the  mighty  works  that 
God  has  wrought  through  the  hands  of  man. 
Think  of  the  great  influence  of  the  thou- 
sands of  Sunday-schools  scattered  aU  over 
the  world.     How  did  that  besrin?     In  the 


90  JJotocr 

efforts  of  poor  printer  Kobert  Raikes  to 
teach  the  ragged  children  of  Gloucester. 
Think  of  the  beautiful  charity  which  carries 
vast  multitudes  of  little  ones  every  summer 
out  of  the  crowded  city  into  the  fresh  air 
of  the  country.  How  did  that  begin  ?  In 
the  attempt  of  a  country  minister  to  bring 
a  score  of  poor  children  to  spend  a  few 
days  in  the  farmhouses  of  his  scanty  parish. 
What  can  we  do?  Nothing.  What  can 
God  do  with  us  ?  Anything ;  whatsoever 
He  will. 

But  perhaps  you  will  say,  "  This  does  not 
help  me  so  much,  after  all.  For  these  men 
and  women  are  separated  from  me.  I  do 
not  really  know  them,  nor  they  me.  There 
is  no  bond  between  us,  nothing  to  make  me 
partaker  of  their  life.  In  fact,  they  are  so 
far  above  me  that  it  humiliates  me  even  to 
tliink  of  them,  and  if  they  knew  me  there  is 
no  reason  to  think  that  they  could  do  any- 
thing else  than  look  down  upon  me  in  my 
selfishness,  weakness,  and  sin." 

To  one  who  is  in  this  state  of  mind  I  think 
Paul  is  more  helpful  than  David,  the  New 
Testament  more  precious  than  the  Old.  Let 
us  turn,  then,  to  the  way  in  which  the  apos- 


JJotoer  91 

tie  sought  to  know  and  feel  the  power  of 
God.  "  That  I  may  know  Him,"  he  cried, 
that  is  Christ,  "  and  the  power  of  his  resur- 
rection." And  in  another  place  he  said : 
"  That  ye  may  know  what  is  the  exceeding 
greatness  of  his  power  to  us-ward  who  believe, 
according  to  the  working  of  his  mighty 
power  which  He  wrought  in  Christ  when  He 
raised  Him  from  the  dead."  That  is  the 
true  proof  and  manifestation  of  the  spiritual 
power  of  God  ;  the  life  and  resurrection  of 
Jesus  Christ,  conqueror  of  sin  and  death. 

Remember  that  it  is  a  real  human  life, 
lived  in  the  same  flesh  and  blood,  under 
the  same  conditions  and  limitations  as  ours, 
made  human  in  order  that  it  might  be  like 
ours.  Remember  that  the  streng-th  of  it  is 
not  physical  but  spiritual,  the  same  Spirit  of 
God  dwelling  in  Jesus  whom  God  promises 
to  give  to  all  that  ask  Him.  Remember 
that  its  trimnph  over  falsehood  and  tempta- 
tion and  sin  and  death  is  one  triumph,  and 
that  the  resurrection  is  but  the  final  working 
of  the  same  power  which  worked  all  thi'ough 
the  holy  life  of  Jesus,  so  that  He  conquered 
the  grave  with  the  same  might  with  which 
He  overcame  evil.     Remember  that  this  life 


92  JJotoer 

is  given  to  us  and  for  us,  so  that  we  may 
belong  to  it,  as  the  branches  belong  to  the 
vine,  as  the  members  belong  to  the  body. 
Remember  that  Christ  says  :  "  Without  me 
ye  can  do  nothing,  but  lo !  I  am  with  you 
alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world.  He 
that  believeth  on  me,  the  works  that  I  do 
shall  he  do  also.  Where  I  am,  there  shall 
ye  be  also."  Remember  these  things,  and 
we  shall  understand  what  Paul  means  by 
knowing  the  power  of  his  resurrection.  It 
is  to  know  that  the  greatest  spiritual  power 
in  the  universe,  the  power  which  made  Jesus 
Christ  perfect  in  holiness,  is  ready  to  enter 
and  work  in  us,  and  that  He  who  raised 
up  Jesus  from  the  dead  shall  quicken  our 
mortal  bodies  by  his  Spirit  that  dwelleth 
in  us. 

III.  Now  what  practical  effect  will  this 
knowledge  of  the  mighty  power  of  God  have 
in  our  lives  ?  David  thinks  chiefly  of  one 
effect ;  Paul  chiefly  of  another. 

The  prominent  thought  in  the  psalm  is 
the  joy  that  comes  from  seeing  God's  power : 
"  My  soul  shall  be  satisfied  as  with  marrow 
and  fatness,  and  my  mouth  shall  praise  thee 
with  joyful  lips."     And  surely  that  is  a  good 


JJotoer  93 

thing.  Joy  is  essential  to  true  religion.  A 
gloomy  religion  is  far  from  God.  A  sad 
gospel  is  a  contradiction  in  terms,  like  a 
black  sun.  "  Behold,"  said  the  angel,  "  I 
bring  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy,  which 
shall  be  to  all  people.-'  And  that  message 
was  simply  the  news  of  a  great  power  which 
had  appeared  in  the  world  for  salvation. 
David,  indeed,  did  not  hear  this  message 
in  its  fulness,  did  not  see  this  power  in 
its  perfection.  But  he  heard  the  promise  of 
it,  he  felt  the  thrill  of  its  coming.  His  hope 
was  in  God.  "  I  have  set  the  Lord  always 
before  me ;  because  He  is  at  my  right  hand  I 
shall  not  be  moved.  Therefore  my  heart  is 
glad  and  my  glory  rejoiceth ;  my  flesh  also 
shall  rest  in  hope."  Yes,  God  is  light,  God 
is  love,  God  is  power ;  and  therefore  God  is 
hope. 

Little  does  he  know  of  true  joy  who  knows 
not  this.  Lightly,  foolishly,  falsely  does  he 
think  of  the  great  resistant  force  of  evil, 
the  tremendous  difficulties  of  being  good, 
the  vast  inertia  of  a  world  lying  in  sin,  who 
exults  in  aught  else  than  the  knowledge  of  a 
Divine  power  able  to  overcome  it  all.  When 
we  look  at  the  follies  and  vices  and  crimes 


94  J)otocr 

and  shames  which  still  exist  amono:  men, 
when  we  see  the  immense  obstacles  which 
stand  in  the  way  of  the  spiritual  progress  of 
humanity,  when  we  discern  the  dark  and  sul- 
len and  obstinate  influences  which  are  potent 
in  our  own  hearts,  despair  for  ourselves  and 
for  the  world  seems  natural,  pessimism  right 
and  inevitable.  Will  the  slender  ray  of  light 
that  shines  on  the  mountain-top  ever  conquer 
the  huge  darkness  ? 

Well,  that  depends  on  the  source  from 
which  it  springs.  If  it  comes  only  from  a 
fire  kindled  there  by  human  hands,  it  will 
go  out  again  when  the  fuel  is  exhausted. 
But  if  it  comes  from  the  sun,  it  will  grow 
until  the  night  is  vanquished.  And  that  is 
what  the  Bible  tells  us.  Behind  every  mani- 
festation of  spiritual  life  there  is  the  Spirit. 
Behind  Christianity  there  is  Christ.  Be- 
hind Christ  there  is  God.  For  He  is  the 
brightness  of  the  Father's  glory,  and  the  ex- 
press image  of  his  person  ;  and  the  power 
that  works  in  Him,  the  power  that  has  raised 
Him  from  the  dead  and  set  Him  at  God's 
right  hand  in  heavenly  places,  is  the  power 
that  is  saving  every  one  that  believeth,  and 
reconciling  the  world  to  God.      When  we 


PotDer  95 

laiow  that,  despair  ceases  to  exist,  and  joy 
fills  the  heart  mth  music. 

But  in  Paul's  mind  there  is  another 
thought.  It  is  the  thouglit  of  the  strength, 
the  vigour,  the  energy  that  come  from  this 
knowledge.  "  This  one  thing  I  do,"  he  says  : 
"  forgetting  those  tilings  which  are  beliind, 
and  reaching  forth  unto  those  things  which 
are  before,  I  press  toward  the  mark  for  the 
prize  of  the  high  calling  of  God  in  Christ 
Jesus."  And  elsewhere,  again  and  again, 
he  expresses  the  same  thought.  At  the  close 
of  that  glorious  chapter  on  the  resurrection, 
in  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  he 
says  :  "•  Therefore,  my  beloved  brethren,  be 
ye  steadfast,  immovable,  always  abounding 
in  the  work  of  the  Lord."  And  again: 
"  Work  out  your  own  salvation  with  fear 
and  trembling,  for  it  is  God  which  worketh 
in  you."  And  again  :  "  I  can  do  all  things 
through  Christ  which  strengtheneth  me." 

That  is  the  secret  of  strength ;  to  know 
the  Divine  power  and  to  use  it.  The  man 
who  does  not  use  it  cannot  really  know  it. 

The  Christian  who  says,  "  I  know  the 
power  of  God,  and  I  am  trusting  in  that  to 
save  me,  and  sustain  me,  and  make  me  useful, 


96  JJotoer 

and  bring  me  to  heaven,"  and  yet  makes  no 
real  effort  to  be  good  or  to  do  good,  is  like  a 
man  sitting  on  the  bank  of  a  mighty  river, 
and  casting  chips  upon  its  sweeping  tide,  and 
saying,  "  This  river  is  able  to  bear  me  to  my 
journey's  end."  What  you  need  to  do  is  to 
push  your  boat  out  into  the  current,  and  feel 
its  resistless  force,  and  move  onward  with  it. 
Then  you  will  know  the  power  that  now  you 
only  know  about. 

Is  there  any  reason  why  our  lives  should 
be  feeble  and  stagnant  and  worthless?  Is 
there  any  reason  why  we  should  not  over- 
come temptation  and  endure  trial,  and  work 
the  works  of  God  in  the  world,  and  come  at 
last  to  the  height  of  his  abode  in  heaven  ? 
Only  one,  —  that  we  do  not  know  Him  who 
is  able  to  do  exceeding  abundantly  above  all 
that  we  ask  or  think,  according  to  the  power 
that  worketh  in  us.  Lay  hold  on  Him  by 
faith  and  all  things  are  possible.  Let  us 
clasp  the  hand  of  Christ  and  climb  ;  and  as 
we  climb  He  will  lift  us  out  of  sin,  out  of 
selfishness,  out  of  weakness,  out  of  death,  into 
holiness,  into  love,  into  strength,  into  life, 
and  we  shaU  know  the  power  of  his  resur- 
rection. 


V 

REDEMPTION 
**  jFor  pe  are  bou^Ijt  toitlj  a  price." 

I  Corinthians  vi.  20. 


"  JFor  pe  arc  hau^U  tottl)  a  price." 

The  Apostle  Paul  thinks  so  mucli  of  this 
plain  saying  that  he  repeats  it  in  the  next 
chapter,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  we  should 
not  forget  it,  nor  fail  to  appropriate  it  in  our 
lives.  And  in  this  he  is  right.  For  it  is  in- 
deed a  word  like  a  jewel,  shining,  precious, 
imperishable.  If  we  rightly  estimate  its 
worth,  if  we  take  it  into  the  treasury  of  our 
hearts,  it  will  more  enrich  and  ennoble  us 
than  the  possession  of  royal  gems. 

And  yet  it  may  seem  strange  to  you  that 
so  much  should  be  made  of  this  saying.  For 
what  is  it,  after  all,  this  confident  and  posi- 
tive assertion  of  the  apostle,  but  the  state- 
ment of  a  great  debt  which  we  owe  and  can 
never  pay  —  a  tremendous  obligation  rest- 
ing upon  every  one  of  us  from  which  we  can 
never  escape?  What  does  it  tell  us  save 
that  we  have  all  been  bought  in  the  open 
market,  as  slaves  are  bought,  —  for  so  the 


100  KeUemption 


Apostle's  word  signifies,  —  and  tliat  tlie  price 
has  been  paid,  and  that  henceforth  we  belong 
to  a  master  ?  Is  not  this  a  strange  thing  to 
rejoice  over,  as  if  it  were  a  precious  boon  ? 

Certainly,  it  is  a  strange  thing,  but  never- 
theless it  is  a  true  thing  ;  for,  in  regard  to 
human  life  at  least,  truth  is  almost  always 
stranger  than  fiction.  That  which  is  obvious 
and  self-evident  is  frequently  false,  and  gen- 
erally superficial.  It  is  only  by  striking  down 
into  the  hidden  depths  of  our  nature  that 
we  come  to  those  paradoxes  in  which  the 
essence  of  truth  resides.  "  He  that  findeth 
his  life  shall  lose  it."  That  is  a  contradic- 
tion in  terms,  but  it  is  a  reality  in  experi- 
ence. "  He  that  is  greatest  among  you  shall 
be  your  servant."  That  is  a  falsehood  to  the 
sense,  but  it  is  a  truth  to  the  soul.  "  He 
only  is  wise  who  knows  himself  to  be  a  fool." 
To  a  little  learning,  that  seems  absurd,  but 
to  a  profound  philosophy  it  is  the  voice  of 
wisdom.  And  so  this  saying  of  Paul's, 
which  looks  at  first  like  a  burden,  an  im- 
poverishment, a  chain,  is  in  fact  an  uplift- 
ing, an  enrichment,  an  emancipation,  for 
those  who  really  understand  it  and  translate 
it  into  life. 


KeUemption  101 


Think  of  this  for  a  moment,  and  try  to  see 
what  it  means.  There  is  a  great  truth  here, 
if  we  can  only  get  it  into  words. 

What  is  liberty  ?  It  is  the  recognition  of 
voluntary  allegiance  to  the  highest  law.  And 
what  is  the  highest  law  ?  It  is  the  law  of 
gratitude  and  love.  Who,  then,  is  free  ?  He 
who  sees  and  feels  the  obligations  which  bind 
him  to  serve  the  highest  and  the  best.  The 
noblest,  richest,  fidlest,  purest  life  is  that 
which  has  the  deepest  and  strongest  sense 
of  indebtedness  resting  upon  it  always,  and 
impelling  it  forward  along  the  line  of  duty, 
which  is  also  the  line  of  joy.  So,  then,  true 
liberty  is  the  highest  kind  of  bondage. 

Do  you  understand  what  I  mean?  Do 
these  words  of  mine  let  even  a  glimmer  of 
the  truth  sliine  through  them  ?  Let  us  try  to 
see  it  a  little  more  clearly.  There  are  three 
broad  statements  hi  regard  to  this  life  of  ours 
that  I  want  to  submit  to  you.  You  shall 
pronounce  your  own  judgment  upon  their 
truth. 

I.  The  sense  of  belonging  to  something  is 
essential  to  our  happiness. 

We  are  never  without  this  sense,  and  there- 
fore we  do  not  realize  its  importance.     But 


102  Keiiemption 


let  us  try  for  once  to  strip  it  away  from  us, 
and  then  perhaps  we  may  feel  what  it  means. 
You  remember  the  story  of  "  The  Man  with- 
out a  Country."  Endeavor  now  to  construct 
in  imagination  the  figure  of  a  man  without  a 
world,  without  a  fellow-man,  without  a  God. 
I  do  not  mean  that  you  should  try  to  think 
the  world  and  humanity  and  God  out  of 
existence,  so  that  you  should  stand  alone  in 
the  universe.  That,  indeed,  would  be  the  only 
complete  isolation,  for  as  long  as  anything 
existed,  your  consciousness  of  it  would  make 
some  kind  of  a  bond  between  you  and  it. 
But  stop  short,  for  the  present,  of  the  hor- 
rible insanity  of  absolute  loneliness  in  void 
space,  and  attempt  only  to  cut  yourself  off 
from  connection  with  all  things  that  exist,  so 
that  you  shall  have  no  dependence  and  no 
obligation  outside  of  yourself. 

You  are  independent.  You  have  no  par- 
entage ;  for  if  you  had,  that  would  create  a 
tie  between  you  and  those  to  whom  you 
owed  your  being.  You  are  not  even  the 
product  of  natural  forces ;  for  if  they  had 
produced  you,  you  would  owe  something  to 
them.  You  have  no  place  in  the  universe ; 
for  if  you  had,  you  would  be  bound  to  fill  it. 


KefiemptiDii  103 


You  are  not  in  tlie  thoughts  of  God,  if  there 
be  a  God ;  for  if  He  thought  of  you,  you 
would  be  responsible  for  meeting  his  thought. 
You  are  a  rank  outsider.  You  are  superflu- 
ous, forgotten,  obsolete,  —  "a  looker-on  in 
Vienna."  All  this  mighty  sum  of  "  things 
forever  working  "  goes  on  without  you,  and 
there  is  nothing  for  you  to  do  ;  for  if  you 
were  needed  anywhere,  that  need  would  cre- 
ate an  obligation ;  and  since  you  are  not 
needed,  you  dare  not  touch  a  finger  to  the 
work  without  presumption  and  interference. 
Ail  these  linked  lives  and  related  intelli- 
gences cling  together  and  play  into  each 
other,  a.nd  every  one  has  a  share  in  another 
and  belongs  to  all  the  rest.  But  the  ch?Jn 
is  complete  without  you ;  you  are  not  in  it. 
You  have  neither  relation  nor  religion,  for 
both  of  them  consist  in  a  bond  and  create  a 
bondage.  You  are  an  independent  atom,  an 
outcast  fragment  of  some  extinct  universe, 
dropped  by  chance  into  this  world  where  all 
things  belong  together,  —  a  foundling,  a 
homeless  thing.  For  you  alone  belong  — 
Nowhere,  and  are  the  forsaken  child  of  — 
Nothing! 

Does  not  the  mere  contemplation  of  such 


104  EeUemption 


a  condition  as  that  throw  us  back  forcibly, 
almost  violently,  upon  the  truth  that  the  joy 
of  our  life  is  a  dependent  joy,  and  that 
we  can  only  come  into  true  and  happy  pos- 
session of  ourselves  when  we  realize  that  we 
belong  to  something  greater  than  ourselves  ? 
As  living  beings  we  are  part  of  a  universe  of 
life  ;  as  intelligent  beings  we  are  in  connec- 
tion with  a  great  circle  of  conscious  intelli- 
gences; as  spiritual  beings  we  have  our 
place  in  a  moral  world  controlled  and  gov- 
erned by  the  supreme  Spirit.  In  each  of 
these  spheres  there  is  a  law,  a  duty,  an  obli- 
gation, a  responsibility,  for  us.  And  our 
felicity  lies  in  the  discovery  and  acknow- 
ledgment of  those  ties  which  fit  us  and  bind 
us  to  take  our  place,  to  play  our  part,  to  do 
our  work,  to  live  our  life,  where  we  belong. 

II.  This  leads  us  on  at  once  to  the  second 
proposition  about  life.  The  true  uplifting 
and  emancipation  of  our  life  comes  through 
the  recognition  of  the  higher  ties  and  rela- 
tionships which  bind  us. 

I  mean  that  the  progress  and  elevation  of 
the  soul  is  a  process  of  discovering,  not  that 
it  is  independent  and  masterless,  but  that  the 
lower  laws  and  conditions  under  which  it 


EcUemption  105 


lives  are  subordinate  to  the  higher  laws,  and 
that  its  bondage  in  a  certain  sphere  becomes 
transformed  into  liberty  when  it  is  lifted  up 
into  a  higher  sphere,  where  both  he  that 
serve th  and  he  that  is  served  are  subject  unto 
a  supreme  sovereignty  which  is  above  all. 
That  is  what  I  imderstand  by  the  reign  of 
law,  —  not  the  domination  of  one  rule  alone 
upon  all  that  is,  but  the  reign  of  law  over 
law,  the  higher  above  the  lower,  and  the 
highest  of  all  supreme ;  so  that  those  who 
rise  to  that  last  and  topmost  height,  where 
God  forever  dwells  and  is  what  He  com- 
mands, are  sharers  in  his  libei-ty  and  domin- 
ion :  they  become  the  sons  of  God,  not  be- 
cause they  have  cast  off  and  renounced  their 
obligations,  but  because  they  have  recognized 
them  step  by  step,  sphere  by  sphere,  until  at 
last  they  come  with  glad  submission  into 
unity  and  harmony  with  that  which  is  sove- 
reign and  ultimate ;  and  that,  if  the  Bible  is 
true,  is  nothing  else  than  perfect  Love. 

See  how  we  can  trace  the  steps  of  this 
process  in  the  common  life  of  man!  The 
child,  coming  into  existence,  not  by  its  own 
choice  and  will,  but  out  of  life  behind  it,  be- 
becomes  aware  first  of  its  physical  being.     It 


106  EcHempttott 


takes  its  place  among  the  creatures  that 
breathe  and  eat  and  sleep,  and  adapts  itself 
spontaneously  to  the  laws  of  that  existence. 
A  physical  life  has  begun  which  will  be  con- 
tinually dependent  upon  obedience  to  those 
laws.  But  presently  another  life  begins  to 
dawn  within  the  first  life.  The  child  be- 
comes conscious  of  ^DOwers  of  observation,  of 
comparison,  of  thought.  It  does  not  cease  to 
belong  to  the  animal  kingdom ;  it  becomes, 
however,  an  animal  who  thinks,  and  thus  is 
subject  to  the  higher  laws  of  reason  ;  and  it 
is  only  by  following  that  law  that  the  child 
is  really  lifted  upwards,  and  grows  intelli- 
gent and  free.  And  then  comes  the  opening 
of  another  world  to  which  it  belongs,  —  the 
spiritual  world,  —  a  disclosure  so  secret  and 
vital  that  we  cannot  describe  the  order  or 
manner  of  it.  But  we  know  the  three  chan- 
nels through  which  it  comes,  —  the  affections, 
the  conscience,  and  the  religious  feeling. 
And  we  know  the  signs  and  marks  of  it.  We 
can  tell  when  the  child  begins  to  feel  the 
ties  of  love  and  duty  which  bind  it  to  human- 
kind, the  laws  of  right  and  wrong  which  are 
different  and  superior  to  all  other  laws,  the 
sense  of  awe  and  dependence  and  responsi- 


Keticmpti0n  107 


bility  which  is  the  evidence  of  God  unseen. 
We  know  also  that  the  growth  of  that  child 
into  liberty  and  nobility  will  depend  upon 
the  recognition  of  these  invisible  things,  and 
the  allegiance  to  them.  It  will  rise,  it  will 
become  a  free  and  beautiful  soul,  only  as  it 
lives  in  love  and  duty  and  worship. 

Take  another  illustration,  simpler  and 
more  striking.  Here  is  a  slave  bound  by 
artificial  law  to  the  service  of  a  human  mas- 
ter. How  shall  you  make  that  man  free  ? 
Suppose  you  slay  the  master,  and  strike  the 
bonds  from  the  limbs  of  the  slave,  and  say 
to  him,  "  Go !  you  are  free,  you  have  no 
master,  you  belong  to  nobody."  What  have 
you  done  for  him  ?  Is  he  really  any  more 
free  than  he  was  before  ?  Is  he  not  still  a 
slave,  though  a  masterless  one?  But  sup- 
pose you  teach  him  to  believe  that  he  is  a 
human  being,  and  that  he  has  a  service  to 
render,  even  in  his  low  estate,  to  the  whole 
brotherhood  of  mankind,  —  a  service  just  as 
real  and  true,  and  therefore  just  as  noble, 
as  that  of  the  king  upon  his  throne.  Sup- 
pose you  bring  into  his  mind  the  great  truth 
that  he  belongs  to  God  just  as  fully  and  as 
completely  as  his  master  does,  and  that,  even 


108  Eetiemjjtion 


under  the  hard  conditions  of  his  life,  it  is 
his  duty,  his  privilege,  his  glory,  to  serve 
God  by  honesty  and  fidelity  and  diligence 
and  purity.  Now,  indeed,  you  have  liberated 
his  soul ;  and  if  the  liberation  of  his  body 
comes,  as  it  ought  to  come,  as  it  must  come, 
it  will  find  him  already  a  free  man,  and  fit 
for  liberty,  because  he  has  caught  sight  of 
the  true  meaning  of  fraternity  and  equality. 
It  was  thus  that  Christianity  advanced 
upon  the  world,  and  thus  that  it  dealt  with 
the  evil  of  human  slavery.  Entering  the 
mighty  Roman  Empire  at  a  time  when  it  in- 
cluded perhaps  120,000,000  of  people  and 
60,000,000  of  them  slaves,  it  proclaimed 
no  insurrection,  it  created  no  anarchy.  It 
taught  the  Fatherhood  of  God  and  the  bro- 
therhood of  man,  not  merely  as  a  doctrine, 
but  as  a  law  of  life  binding  all  who  believed 
in  it.  It  said  in  plain  words,  by  the  mouth 
of  Paul  and  all  his  fellow-servants  of  Chris- 
tianity :  "  Art  thou  called,  being  a  slave  ? 
Care  not  for  it ;  but  if  thou  mayest  be  made 
free,  use  it  rather.  For  he  that  is  called  in 
the  Lord  being  a  slave,  is  the  Lord's  free- 
man ;  likewise  also  he  that  is  called  being 
free  is  Christ's  slave."     And  so  the  Gospel 


EeKemptton  109 


carries  written  upon  its  very  face  the  great 
truth  that  the  only  real  deliverance  from  a 
lower  bondage  lies  in  the  recognition  of  a 
higher  obligation.  Men  are  made  free  by 
discerning  their  noblest  allegiance. 

III.  But  there  is  yet  one  more  truth  that 
we  must  take  into  accoimt  if  we  are  to  grasp 
the  whole  of  the  subject,  and  find  ourselves 
in  a  position  to  understand  the  divine  beauty 
and  meaning  of  the  text.  Let  me  try  to 
utter  it  briefly  and  clearly. 

The  inward  joy  and  power  of  our  life,  in 
every  sphere,  come  from  the  discovery  that 
its  highest  obligation  rests  at  last  upon  the 
law  of  gratitude.  In  every  tie  that  binds  us 
we  are  made  free  and  glad  to  serve,  when 
we  recognize  that  we  have  been  "bought 
with  a  price." 

Do  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  Take  this 
thought  of  recognizing  the  price  that  has 
been  paid  for  us.  and  carry  it  out  into  the 
different  fields  of  hiunan  life,  and  see  how  it 
sheds  a  glory  and  a  splendour  on  every  rela- 
tionship, on  every  duty,  on  every  sacrifice. 

Here  is  the  family  circle.  You  belong  to 
it.  It  has  its  obligations  and  responsibilities 
for  you.     You  are  subject  to  your  parents. 


110  EeKemption 


They  have  a  right  to  control  you  and  to  de- 
mand your  obedience.  So  far,  you  are  sub- 
ject to  a  law,  good  and  necessary,  but  in 
itself  external  and  formal.  Presently  you 
come  to  feel,  if  you  are  worth  anything  at  all, 
that  this  family  life  has  cost  something  ;  you 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  pangs  of  anguish,  the 
hours  of  watching  and  weariness,  the  count- 
less and  continual  draughts  on  life  and  love, 
that  a  mother  has  borne  for  your  sake.  You 
think  of  the  daily  toils,  the  struggles  with 
adverse  fortune,  the  cares  and  self-denials 
through  which  a  father  has  passed,  that  you 
might  be  protected  and  nurtured  and  edu- 
cated. You  begin  to  understand  that  not 
only  expenditures  of  such  things  as  strength 
and  money,  but  far  greater  treasures  of  the 
heart,  affections,  anxieties,  prayers,  sacrifices, 
expenditures  of  the  very  best  of  life,  have 
been  made  for  you.  And  when  that  truth 
comes  to  you,  you  feel  that  you  are  bought 
with  a  price.  Does  it  oppress  and  darken 
your  life  ?  Does  it  not  rather  ennoble  and 
gladden  you  ?  It  lifts  you  up  into  the  true 
filial  relation,  —  makes  you  long  to  be  a 
nobler  son,  a  better  daughter,  more  worthy 
of  the  sacrifices  which  have  been  made  for 


KeUcmption  111 


you.  If  they  could  ever  be  repaid,  tliey 
would  be  a  burden  until  you  had  discharged 
the  debt.  But  just  because  it  is  so  great 
that  it  transcends  payment,  it  makes  you  a 
willing  debtor  forever,  and  binds  you  to  a 
grateful  and  loving  life. 

Is  not  the  same  thing  true  of  our  relations 
to  our  country  ?  You  are  born  a  citizen  of 
the  republic ;  and  that  does  not  mean  very 
much,  as  a  bare  fact,  except  a  duty  of  paying 
taxes,  and  a  privilege,  which  you  may  not 
prize  very  highly,  of  voting  with  more  or  less 
regTdarity.  But  suppose  it  flashes  upon  you 
some  day,  as  I  believe  it  does  flash  upon 
most  honest  and  manly  boys  who  read  the 
history  of  their  country,  that  all  the  hard- 
ships and  perils  and  conflicts  of  the  fore- 
fathers —  all  the  patient  endurance  of  pri- 
vations and  the  brave  defiance  of  dangers, 
all  the  offerings  of  treasure  and  blood  that 
have  been  made  to  found,  liberate,  defend,  and 
preserve  our  country  —  are  a  price  paid  for 
you.  Do  you  not  see  how  that  thought  must 
kindle  the  flame  of  patriotism  upon  the  altar 
of  your  heart  ?  How  it  must  awaken  that 
strange,  inward  warmth  of  feeling  which 
glows  at  the  very  mention  of  your  country's 


112  Eetremption 


name  ?  How  it  will  rise,  if  you  are  a  true 
man,  in  tlie  hour  of  need,  into  that  devotion 
which  cries,  "  It  is  sweet  and  beautiful  to  die 
for  one's  country  "  ?  Surely  the  very  soul  of 
patriotism  is  this  wonderful  sense  that  we 
have  been  bought  with  a  price. 

And  the  same  thing  is  true  of  our  relation- 
ship to  humanity,  to  the  great  brotherhood 
of  man.  We  are  born  into  it  and  belong  to 
it.  We  are  subject  to  the  common  laws  of 
human  nature,  and  we  submit  to  them  with 
good  or  ill  grace.  It  does  not  mean  very 
much  to  us.  But  suppose  we  come  to  un- 
derstand that  this  race  of  man  to  which 
we  belong,  is  bound  together  by  something 
deeper  and  more  vital  than  subjection  to 
an  outward  law,  that  there  is  a  vicarious 
element  in  human  life,  that  no  man  liveth 
to  himself  and  no  man  dieth  to  himseK,  that 
all  the  efforts  and  aspirations  and  toils  and 
sufferings  of  humanity  serve  us  and  are  for 
our  sake.  This  is  true  in  the  plainest  and 
most  literal  sense.  The  houses  that  shelter 
us,  the  clothes  that  cover  us,  the  food  on 
our  tables,  have  all  been  won  for  us  by  the 
labour  of  other  hands.  We  have  paid  for 
that  labour,  it  is  true,  but  there  is  one  thing 


Heijfmptian  113 


that  we  have  not  paid  for,  and  that  is  the 
life  that  has  gone  into  the  labour. 

And  there  is  another  thing  that  has  been 
done  for  some  of  us  —  for  all  of  us  in  this 
congregation  in  some  measure  —  that  we  have 
not  paid  for  and  cannot  repay.  I  mean  the 
subjection  of  great  multitudes  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  to  hard  and  narrow  and  oppressive 
conditions  of  life,  to  poverty  and  to  dull, 
distasteful  toil,  in  order  that  we  should  be 
free  to  follow  the  callings  which  are,  I  will 
not  say  higher,  but  certainly  cleaner  and 
brighter  and  more  beautiful,  in  order  that 
we  should  have  the  means  and  the  time  for 
culture  and  refinement  and  an  expanded  life. 
I  am  not  concerned  now  to  explain  or  justify 
this  state  of  things.  I  am  taking  it  simply 
as  a  fact,  and  I  say  that  the  true  nobility  of 
our  human  sentiment  can  only  come  from  a 
sense  of  the  meaning  of  that  fact.  When  we 
realize  that  every  liberty,  every  privilege, 
every  advantage,  that  comes  to  us  as  men  and 
women  has  been  bought  with  a  price,  —  that 
the  dark,  subterranean  lives  of  those  who  toil 
day  and  night  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
the  perils  and  hardships  of  those  who  sail  to 
and  fro  upon  the  stormy  seas,  the  benumb- 


114  EeUemptian 


ing  weariness  of  those  who  dig  and  ditch  and 
handle  dirt,  the  endless  tending  of  looms  and 
plying  of  needles  and  carrying  of  burdens,  — 

"  the  fierce  confederate  storm 
Of  sorrow  barricadoed  evermore 
Within  the  walls  of  cities,"  — 

all  this  is  done  and  endured  and  suffered  by 
our  fellow-men,  though  blindly,  for  our  bene- 
fit, and  accrues  to  our  advantage,  —  when  we 
begin  to  understand  this,  a  nobler  spirit 
enters  into  us,  the  only  spirit  that  can  keep 
our  wealth,  our  freedom,  our  culture  from 
being  a  curse  to  us  forever,  and  sinking  us 
into  the  ennui  of  a  selfish  hell. 

Noblesse  ohlige,  —  that  is  the  true  motto 
of  a  nobility  worthy  of  the  name.  The 
higher  the  elevation,  the  deeper  and  wider  is 
the  obligation.  The  ideal  of  kingship  is  not 
to  be  found  in  the  luxurious  and  licentious 
palace  of  the  Shah  of  Persia,  but  in  the  hos- 
pitals of  Naples,  where  the  King  of  Italy 
bends  to  help  and  comfort  the  poorest  of  his 
subjects.  Every  touch  of  beauty,  of  light, 
of  power,  every  gift  of  riches,  of  freedom,  of 
learning  that  is  ours,  has  been  paid  for  by 
the  lives  of  our  fellow-men,  and  binds  us  to 
their  service.     It  is  this  thought  alone  which 


EeUcmfltion  115 


can  reveal  to  us  the  immense  meaning  of 
humanity,  and  fit  us  for  our  part  in  life,  and 
make  us  truly  noble  men  and  gentle  women. 
We  are  bought  with  a  price. 

And  now  some  of  you  may  ask  why  I 
have  dwelt  so  long  upon  these  propositions 
in  regard  to  human  life  and  said  nothing 
yet  about  religion,  made  no  direct  comment 
upon  the  text.  This  is  the  reason.  It  is 
because  life  is  part  of  religion,  and  religion 
is  part  of  life.  It  is  because  the  great  truth 
of  redemption  by  Jesus  Christ  is  not  a 
strange,  unnatural,  unreasonable,  inhuman 
truth,  but  profoundly  natural  and  reason- 
able, and  fitted  in,  by  a  divine  adaptation,  to 
the  very  inmost  recesses  of  our  human  na- 
ture. It  is  because  the  beauty  and  power 
of  the  text  come  not  from  the  fact  that  it  is 
foreign  to  our  experience,  —  a  mystic  and 
incomprehensible  word,  —  but  rather  from 
the  fact  that  it  is  cognate  to  our  experi- 
ence. Everything  fine  and  pure  and  uplift- 
ing in  our  life  points  to  it  and  throws  light 
upon  it. 

Our  physical,  intellectual,  and  social  hap- 
piness depends  on  our  belonging  to  something 
greater  than  ourselves.      How,  then,   shall 


116  EcUemption 


we  find  our  spiritual  happiness,  save  in  be- 
longing to  God  ?  Our  deliverance  from 
the  lower  servitude  of  life  comes  through 
the  knowledge  of  its  higher  and  wider  alle- 
giance. How,  then,  shaU  we  be  freed  from 
the  slavery  of  sin  and  self  and  sense  and 
death,  save  by  coming  into  subjection  to 
God  ?  The  inspiration  of  the  service  that  we 
render  in  this  world  to  our  homes,  our  coun- 
try, our  fellow-men,  springs  from  the  recogni- 
tion that  a  price  has  been  paid  for  us ;  the 
vital  power  of  noble  conduct  rises  from  the 
deep  fountain  of  gratitude,  which  flows  not 
with  water,  but  with  warm  heart' s-blood. 
How  then,  shall  a  like  power  come  into  our 
religion,  how  shall  it  be  as  real,  as  living, 
as  intimate,  as  our  dearest  human  tie,  unless 
we  know  and  feel  that  God  has  paid  a  price 
for  us,  that  He  has  bought  us  with  his  own 
precious  life  ? 

And  this  is  the  truth  which  the  Gospel  re- 
veals to  us.  This  is  the  price  of  which  the 
text  speaks ;  it  is  the  incarnation,  life,  suf- 
ferings and  death  of  the  Son  of  God.  This 
is  the  great  ransom  which  has  been  given  for 
all.  He  gave  himself  to  poverty,  to  toil,  to 
humiliation,   to   agony,   to   the   cross.     He 


KeUemptton  117 


gave  himself  for  us,  not  only  for  our  bene- 
fit, but  in  our  place.  He  bore  the  trials  and 
temptations  which  belong  to  us.  He  car- 
ried our  sins.  He  endured  our  punishment. 
Through  torture  and  anguish  He  went  down 
to  our  death.  Through  loneKness  and  sor- 
row He  descended  into  our  grave.  If  it 
were  merely  a  human  being  who  had  done 
this  for  us,  it  would  be  much.  But  since  it 
was  a  Divine  Being,  it  is  infinitely  more  pre- 
cious. Think  of  the  almighty  One  becoming 
weak,  the  glorious  One  suffering  shame,  the 
holy  One  dwelling  amongst  sinners,  the  very 
Son  of  God  pouring  out  his  blood  for  us 
upon  the  accursed  tree !  It  is  this  divinity 
in  the  sacrifice  that  gives  it  power  to  recon- 
cile and  bind  our  hearts  to  God.  It  is  God 
himseK  proving  how  much  He  loves  us  by 
the  price  which  He  is  willing  to  pay  for  us. 
It  is  God  himseK  manifest  in  the  flesh  to 
redeem  us  from  sin  and  death,  in  order  that 
we  may  belong  to  Him  entirety  and  forever. 
Words  fail  me  to  express  the  splendour 
and  might  of  this  great  truth  as  it  is  revealed 
in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  It  is  the  wisdom  of 
God  and  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation. 
It  is  the  supreme  revelation  of  the  Divine 


118  EeHemptiDH 


nature,  which  is  like  the  human  nature,  and 
yet  so  far  outshines  it  as  the  sun  outshines  a 
taper.  It  tells  us  what  God  will  do  for  us  ; 
for  "  He  that  spared  not  his  own  Son,  but 
freely  delivered  Him  up  for  us,  how  shall 
He  not  also,  with  Him,  freely  give  us  all 
things  ?  "  It  tells  us  what  we  owe  to  God  : 
"  for  He  died  for  aU,  that  they  which  live 
should  not  henceforth  live  unto  themselves, 
but  unto  Him  which  died  for  them  and  rose 
again."  It  is  the  source  and  centre  of  a 
true  theology.  It  is  the  spring  and  motive 
of  a  high  morality.  It  is  the  secret  of  a  new 
life,  redeemed,  consecrated,  sanctified  by  the 
Son  of  God,  who  loved  us  and  gave  himself 
for  us. 

A  great  deal  of  our  religious  thought  and 
teaching  to-day  is  turned  to  the  example  of 
Christ  as  the  model  and  pattern  of  true  man- 
hood. And  we  rejoice  in  this,  because  it  is 
a  high  and  noble  doctrine.  But  let  us  not 
forget  that  if  it  stands  alone  it  is  partial  and 
incomplete.  The  force  of  an  example,  how- 
ever lofty,  has  its  limits.  The  life  of  Christ 
as  an  ideal  falls  short  of  the  power  to  save 
us  and  uplift  us,  unless  it  is  also  a  ransom, 
a  life  freely  given  and  sacrificed  for  us.     If 


Kctremptton  119 


He  were  oiir  example  only,  his  very  eleva- 
tion above  us,  the  x^urity  and  splendour  of 
his  character,  the  perfection  of  his  moral 
triumph  compared  with  our  feeble  and  sinful 
lives,  would  discourage  and  cast  us  down. 
As  well  ask  a  common  man  to  show  the 
genius  of  a  Dante  or  a  Shakespeare,  to  exer- 
cise the  power  of  a  Caesar  or  a  Charlemagne, 
as  to  live  the  life  of  Christianity  with  no- 
thing but  an  example  to  guide  and  bind  us. 
But  because  that  life  is  something  more,  be- 
cause it  is  given  and  sacrificed  for  us,  it 
becomes  a  vital  and  spiritual  power,  it  lays 
hold  of  us  at  the  very  centre  of  our  being. 
While  it  covers  our  sins  and  shortcomings, 
it  awakens  our  noblest  longings  and  desires. 
It  sets  us  free  to  follow  it,  and  to  follow  it 
to  success. 

Man  will  never  grow  beyond  the  need  of 
that  ransom.  For  all  other  ways  of  finding 
peace  with  God,  of  making  sure  that  He 
loves  us,  of  entering  into  the  sense  of  for- 
giveness and  fellowship  with  Him,  are  vain 
and  futile  compared  with  the  Divine  sacrifice. 
Peace  through  the  cross  alone,  is  true  for  us 
as  it  was  for  Paul.  Man  will  never  grow  be- 
yond the  power  of  that  great  ransom  to  test 


120  Kctremption 


and  judge  his  soul,  to  reveal  the  thoughts  of 
his  heart,  to  prove  whether  he  will  be  saved 
or  lost.  For  here  is  the  solemn  mystery 
of  it  all,  that,  though  this  price  was  paid  for 
every  man,  yet  every  man  is  free  to  appro- 
priate or  to  reject  the  gift,  to  acknowledge 
or  deny  the  obligation.  And  those  who  do 
not  feel  its  preciousness  and  its  binding 
power,  those  who  count  the  blood  of  the 
covenant  wherewith  they  were  redeemed  a 
common  thing,  and  deny  the  Lord  that 
bought  them,  are  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
ransom.  God  himseK  is  to  them  as  "  a  stran- 
ger and  as  a  man  astonished,  a  mighty  man 
that  cannot  save." 

And  so,  my  friends,  I  have  set  the  truth 
before  you  by  which  the  course  of  all  your 
years,  stretching  far  on  beyond  this  life,  must 
be  determined.  I  point  you  to  the  Saviour, 
who  alone  can  set  you  free  from  the  curse  of 
sin,  from  the  bondage  of  the  law,  from  the 
fear  of  death,  by  bringing  you  into  his  love 
and  service.  You  are  bought  with  a  price. 
Christ  has  come  and  borne  your  burdens  with 
you,  and  your  sins  for  you.  Henceforth 
there  is  not  one  of  you  that  need  be  anx- 
ious about  the  forgiveness  of  your  sins,  the 


Eclremption  121 


salvation  of  your  souls.  It  is  all  purchased 
and  paid  for,  if  you  will  accept  it.  But 
with  it  YOU  ARE  PURCHASED,  and  you  belong 
to  the  Lord  Christ.  "  He  has  conquered  sin, 
so  that  you  need  not  be  its  slave  any  longer. 
Now  let  Him  conquer  you  by  his  great  love, 
and  so  his  victory  will  be  complete." 

"We  desire  our  life  to  be  a  life  of  freedom, 
a  life  of  noble  service,  a  life  of  glad  and 
happy  labour  for  that  which  is  highest  and 
best.  There  is  only  one  way  to  make  it  so. 
and  that  is  to  live  it  under  the  controlling 
power  of  the  great  price  that  has  been  paid 
for  us.  Acknowledge  the  Lord  Jesus  as 
your  Saviour,  Owner,  Master,  King.  Con- 
fess the  greatness  of  your  obligation  to  Him. 
Confess  that  you  can  never  repay  it.  And 
then  give  yourseK  to  Him  to  live  as  bravely, 
as  purely,  as  faithfully,  as  nobly  as  you  can 
in  his  name  and  for  his  sake. 

"  Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine, 
That  were  a  present  far  too  small : 
Love  so  amazing,  so  divine, 

Demands  my  life,  my  soul,  my  all." 


VI 

ABRAHAM'S  ADVENTURE 
'3lnD[  \it  toent  out,  not  tmotoins:  tol)itl)er  |)c  toent/ 

Hebrews  xi.  8. 


'^nU  'bt  toent  mi,  not  Ikiwtomjg:  tol^itSer  ^t  toent." 

This  text  describes  a  life  of  adventure. 
It  brings  before  us  one  of  tbat  noble  com- 
pany of  explorers  who  forsake  tlie  beaten 
track  and  push  out  into  a  new,  strange, 
uncertain  course  for  tbe  sake  of  discovering 
and  possessing  a  new  world. 

These  men  always  appear  heroic.  There 
is  something  in  them  which  compels  our  ad- 
miration. There  is  something  in  us  which 
responds  to  their  daring,  and  follows  their 
journeyings  with  eager  interest.  I  suppose 
it  is  the  old,  migratory  instinct,  —  the  in- 
stinct which  first  drew  the  tribes  of  men 
out  from  their  original  homes,  and  peopled 
the  distant  regions  of  the  earth,  —  it  is  this 
deep,  curious  impulse  of  wandering  and  dis- 
covery which  still  lingers  in  our  nature,  and 
stirs  us  with  strange  thrills  of  enthusiasm, 
and  fills  us  with  wild  day-dreams  of  adven- 
ture as  we  read  or  hear  the  story  of  some 


y^ 


126  ai>ra|)am'fi  anbenture 

famous  traveller  in  unknown  lands.  There 
is  an  explorer  latent  in  almost  every  man 
whose  mind  is  large  enough  to  have  any 
interests  outside  of  himself  ;  and  it  is  this 
unused  and  frustrated  explorer  who  sits  be- 
side the  fire  and  pores,  entranced  and  fasci- 
nated, over  the  Arctic  diaries  of  Dr.  Kane 
or  the  African  journals  of  Stanley.  He  rec- 
ognizes and  applauds  the  heroism  of  these 
men,  who  went  out,  not  knowing  whither  they 
went. 

The  power  which  has  moved  adventurers 
is  faith.  This  is  the  vital  force  of  almost 
all  the  great  explorers.  They  have  not 
gone  forth  vaguely  and  aimlessly  to  wan- 
der to  and  fro  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 
They  have  believed  in  something  unseen, 
something  that  other  men  have  not  believed 
in,  something  that  has  seemed  to  the  world 
impossible  and  absurd,  and  they  have  set 
forth  to  seek  it.  A  new  continent  across  the 
ocean,  a  new  passage  from  sea  to  sea,  a  new 
lake  among  the  forests,  a  new  land  to  be 
possessed  and  cultivated,  a  goal  beyond 
sight  and  beyond  knowledge,  apprehended 
and  realized  by  a  heroic  faith,  has  drawn 
them  over  stormy  seas  and  inhospitable  des- 


9tljral)am'6  atjbenture  127 

erts,  through  rugged  mountains  and  track- 
less jungles.  They  have  believed,  and  there- 
fore adventured. 

Nor  has  their  faith  been  lacking,  for  the 
most  part,  in  a  spiritual  element.  There  is 
hardly  one  of  them  —  not  one,  I  think, 
am.ong  the  very  greatest  of  the  world's  ex- 
plorers —  who  has  not  believed  in  God,  and 
in  his  overruling  Providence,  and  in  his 
call  to  them  to  undertake  their  adventures. 
It  is  wonderful  and  beautiful  to  see  how 
this  religious  element  has  entered  into  the 
exploration  of  the  earth,  and  how  faith  has 
asserted  itseK  in  the  most  famous  and  glori- 
ous journeyings  of  men.  We  see  Columbus 
planting  the  standard  of  the  cross  on  the 
lonely  beach  of  San  Salvador ;  and  Balboa 
kneeling  silent,  with  uplifted  hands,  on  the 
cliff  from  which  he  first  caught  sight  of  the 
Pacific  ;  and  Livingstone  praying  in  his  tent 
in  the  heart  of  Africa.  From  all  the  best 
and  the  bravest  adventurers  we  hear  the  con- 
fession that  they  are  the  servants  of  a  Divine 
Being,  summoned  and  sent  by  Him  to  a  work 
for  which  they  would  give  Him  the  glory. 

Now  the  life  of  Abraham  takes  an  honour- 
able place  in  the  history  of  adventure  for 


128       '       atvaliam's  ^Hbenture 

several  reasons.  It  seems  to  me  that  its 
antiquity  and  originality  entitle  it  to  respect. 
But  apart  from  this,  in  itself  Abraham's 
adventure  was  momentous  and  significant. 
Other  enterprises  may  appear  to  us  more 
important  and  eventful  than  his  ;  but,  after 
all,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  any  expedi- 
tion that  man  has  ever  undertaken  has  had 
larger  results  in  the  history  of  the  world 
than  the  emergence  of  the  father  of  the 
Hebrew  race  from  Mesopotamian  bondage. 
Other  journeys  may  seem  to  us  more  strik- 
ing and  wonderful  than  his  pilgrimage  from 
Ur  of  the  Chaldees  to  the  land  of  Caanan  ; 
but  if  we  knew  the  story  of  its  hardships 
and  perils,  if  we  understood  the  complex 
civilization  which  he  forsook  and  the  barbar- 
ism which  he  faced,  we  might  not  think  it 
unworthy  to  be  compared  with  the  most 
famous  travels.  But  the  one  thing  in  this 
ancient  story  which  has  survived  the  oblivion 
of  the  centuries,  the  one  thing  which  shines 
out  in  it  clear  and  distinct,  and  makes  it 
glorious  and  precious  beyond  comparison,  is 
its  imperishable  and  unalterable  testimony 
to  the  power  of  faith  to  make  a  brave  man 
face  the  unknown. 


atfcra^am'g  ^Irtjenture  129 

Abraham  believed.  He  lived  in  an  idola- 
trous country.  Every  one  about  bim,  even 
his  own  father  and  his  family,  worshipped 
idols.  But  Abraham's  soul  pierced  through 
all  these  falsehoods  and  delusions  of  men  to 
find  and  clasp  the  one  living  and  true  God 
who  is  a  Spirit. 

Abraham  believed.  He  was  surrounded 
by  the  unrighteousness  that  a  corrupt  reli- 
gion always  sanctions  and  intensifies.  The 
pollutions  and  cruelties  of  heathen  life 
touched  him  on  every  side,  and  must  have 
left  their  stain  upon  him.  He  himself  was 
far  from  righteous.  There  were  flaws  in 
his  character,  blots  upon  his  conduct.  But 
one  thing  he  did  not  do.  He  did  not  carve 
an  idol  out  of  his  own  sin  and  call  it  a  God. 
He  believed  in  a  God  who  was  not  lower 
but  higher  than  himself,  —  a  God  of  pu- 
rity, of  holiness,  of  truth,  of  mercy;  and 
that  faith,  having  in  itseK  the  power  to  up- 
lift and  purify,  was  counted  to  him  for 
righteousness,  —  yea,  it  was  better  than  any 
outward  conformity  to  a  code  of  morality, 
just  as  religion  is  better  than  ethics,  because 
it  has  the  promise  of  gro^vth  and  enlarge- 
ment and  an  endless  life. 


130  ^iraliam'fii  ^Ubentttre 

Abraham  believed.  He  was  bound  by 
tbe  ties  of  the  world,  of  habit,  of  social  or- 
der, of  self-interest,  —  by  all  those  delicate 
and  innumerable  threads  which  seem  to 
fasten  a  man  to  the  ground,  as  the  Lillipu- 
tians fastened  Gulliver,  and  make  liberty  of 
thought,  of  belief,  of  conduct  impossible. 
But  in  the  midst  of  his  bondage  Abraham 
heard  the  voice  of  the  God  who  had  a 
message,  a  mission,  a  call  for  his  soul,  — 
a  message  which  meant  spiritual  freedom, 
a  mission  which  could  only  be  fulfilled  by 
obedience,  a  call  which  said,  "  Get  thee  out 
of  thy  country,  and  from  thy  kindred,  and 
from  thy  father's  house,  unto  the  land  that  I 
will  show  thee."  Think  what  that  involved, 
—  separation  from  the  past,  resignation  of  all 
his  customs  and  plans  of  life,  the  entrance 
upon  an  untrodden  path,  the  following  of  an 
unseen  and  absolute  guidance,  the  consecra- 
tion of  his  life  to  a  journey  through  strange 
lands,  among  strange  people,  towards  a 
strange  goal,  —  the  final  and  supreme  adven- 
ture of  his  soul.  But  Abraham  obeyed  the 
call.  "  He  went  out,  not  knowing  whither 
he  went."     And  that  was  faith. 

Let  us  think  for  a  httle  while  of  this  as- 


^bra^am^fif  ^Uijcnture  131 

pect  of  faitli.  It  is  an  adventure.  It  is  a 
going  out  into  the  unknown  future  under  the 
guidance  of  God. 

I.  AU  faith  recognizes  that  life  is  a  pil- 
grimage whose  course  and  duration  cannot 
he  foreseen.  That  is  true,  indeed,  whether 
we  acknowledge  it  or  not.  Even  if  a  man 
should  fancy  that  his  existence  was  secure, 
and  that  he  could  direct  his  own  career  and 
predict  his  own  future,  experience  would 
teach  him  his  mistake.  But  the  point  is 
that  faith  recognizes  this  uncertainty  of  life 
at  the  outset,  and  in  a  peculiar  way,  which 
transforms  it  from  a  curse  into  a  blessing 
and  makes  it  possible  for  us  even  to  be  glad 
that  we  must  "  go  out  not  knowing  whither 
we  go." 

For  what  is  it  that  faith  does  with  these 
lives  of  ours  ?  It  just  takes  them  up  out  of 
our  weak,  trembhng,  uncertain  control  and 
puts  them  into  the  hands  of  God.  It  makes 
them  a  part  of  his  great  plan.  It  binds 
them  fast  to  his  piu'e  and  loving  will,  and 
fills  them  with  his  life.  Unless  we  believe 
that  God  has  made  us  and  made  us  for  him- 
self, unless  we  believe  that  He  has  some- 
thing for  each  one  of  us  to  do  and  to  be, 


132  aiira|)am'fi;  ^ibentttre 

unless  we  believe  that  He  knows  what  our 
life's  way  should  he  and  has  marked  it  out 
for  us,  how  is  it  possible  for  us  to  go  for- 
ward with  cheerful  confidence  ?  But  if  we 
do  believe  this,  then  of  course  we  shall  be 
willing  to  accept  our  own  ignorance  of  the 
future,  and,  so  far  from  hindering  us  in  our 
advance,  it  will  encourage  and  strengthen 
us  to  remember  that  the  meaning  of  our 
life  is  so  large  that  we  cannot  understand  it. 
It  will  not  fit  into  our  broken  and  imperfect 
knowledge  just  because  it  does  fit  perfectly 
into  the  great  wisdom  of  God. 

Do  you  see  what  I  mean?  The  man 
who  has  no  faith  either  accepts  the  uncer- 
tainty of  life  as  a  necessity  of  fate ;  he  is 
caught  in  the  net  of  a  hidden  destiny, 
which  to  him  can  never  seem  anything  else 
than  a  blind  chance,  because  there  is  no 
purpose  and  no  law  in  it,  —  or  else  he  fights 
against  the  uncertainty  of  life,  and  tries  to 
conquer  it  by  his  own  skill  and  prudence 
and  pertinacity.  He  chooses  the  object  of 
his  ambition,  and  the  line  of  conduct  which 
shall  lead  him  to  it ;  he  marks  out  a  career 
for  himself,  and  pushes  forward  to  fulfil  it 
according  to  his  own  plan.    And  then  every 


afiral^am'd  atHbcnturc  133 

event  that  crosses  his  plan  is  a  cause  of 
anxiety  and  irritation ;  every  call  of  duty 
that  lies  outside  of  it  is  an  interruption  and 
a  burden ;  every  change  that  comes  to  him 
is  a  disappointment  and  a  defeat ;  every  de- 
lay in  the  accomplishment  of  his  schemes 
frets  him  to  the  heart ;  and  when  disaster 
and  sickness  and  death  come  near  to  him  he 
trembles,  for  he  knows  that  they  may  easily 
wreck  and  destroy  his  life.  He  means  to 
be  a  self-made  man  ;  he  will  supply  the  ma- 
terial and  construct  the  model ;  he  assures 
himself  that  he  knows  what  the  result  will 
be.  But  all  the  time  he  is  working  among 
forces  which  may  shatter  him  and  his  plan 
in  a  moment.  Even  while  he  dreams  of  suc- 
cess he  stands  face  to  face  with  failure.  It 
seems  to  me  that  must  make  life  a  feverish 
and  fitful  thing;  a  long,  weary,  continual 
anxiety  of  heart. 

But  the  man  who  has  faith  accepts  the 
uncertainty  of  life  as  the  consequence  of  its 
larger  significance ;  he  cannot  interpret  it, 
because  it  means  so  much ;  he  cannot  trace 
its  lines  through  to  the  end,  because  it  has 
no  end,  it  runs  on  into  God's  eternity. 
Something  better  is  coming  into   it   than 


134  ^brajam'fi  Intcnture 

worldly  success.  Sometiiing  better  is  com- 
ing out  of  it  than  wealth  or  fame  or  power. 
He  is  not  making  himself.  God  is  making 
him,  and  that  after  a  model  which  eye  hath 
not  seen,  but  which  is  to  be  manifest  in  the 
consummation  of  the  sons  of  God.  So  he 
can  toil  away  at  his  work,  not  knowing 
whether  he  is  to  see  its  result  now  or  not, 
but  knowing  that  God  will  not  let  it  be 
wasted.  So  he  can  run  with  patience  the 
race  that  is  set  before  him,  not  knowing 
whether  he  shall  come  in  first  or  last  among 
his  fellows,  but  knowing  that  his  prize  is 
secure.  So  he  can  labour  at  the  edifice  of 
his  life,  not  knowing  whether  it  is  to  be 
finished  according  to  his  plans  or  not,  but 
knowing  that  it  surely  will  be  completed, 
and  surely  will  find  its  place  in  the  great 
temple  which  God  is  building.  Thus  his 
uncertainty  becomes  the  ground  of  his  cer- 
tainty. Failure,  disaster,  ruin  are  impossi- 
ble for  him.  Change  may  come  to  him  as 
it  comes  to  other  men,  but  it  does  not  mean 
calamity.  Disappointment  he  may  ha-ve  to 
meet  as  other  men  meet  it,  but  it  cannot 
bring  despair.  Death  will  surely  find  him, 
and  he  cannot  tell  when  it  will  come ;  but 


Slijra][)am'fi{  StUtentute  135 

he  knows  that  it  will  not  come  before  the 
time ;  it  will  not  break  his  life  off  in  the 
middle,  but  will  finish  one  part  of  it  and 
begin  another.  Loss,  final  and  irretrievable 
loss,  —  no,  the  man  who  believes  never  can 
be  lost,  because  he  willingly  goes  forth  not 
knowing  whither  he  goes,  with  God  for  his 
leader  and  guide. 

II.  This,  then,  is  the  broadest  meaning  of 
faith's  adventure :  it  is  the  surrender  of 
life  to  a  hidden  guidance.  And  bound  up 
together  with  this,  as  an  essential  part  of  it, 
we  find  the  necessity  that  faith  should  ac- 
cept the  rehgious  life  as  an  adventure  full  of 
unknown  trials  and  tests  and  temptations. 
No  one  can  tell  beforehand  just  how  many 
hardships  he  must  pass  through,  just  how 
many  sacrifices  he  must  make,  just  how 
many  assaults  of  evil  he  must  resist,  if  he 
sets  out  to  walk  with  God. 

Abraham  did  not  know  what  would  meet 
him  on  his  life-long  journey :  the  day  of 
peril  in  Egypt  when  he  would  break  down 
and  disgrace  himself  ;  the  day  of  dissension 
with  Lot  when  he  would  prove  his  fidelity 
and  his  love  ;  the  days  of  conflict  with  the 
Kephaim  and  the  Zuzim  and  the  Emim  and 


136  ^bra^am's  ^Utoentttre 

the  Horites,  wlien  he  would  overthrow  them ; 
the  day  of  temptation  when  the  king  of 
Sodom  would  offer  to  make  him  rich ;  the 
day  of  sharpest  sorrow  when  he  would  be 
called  to  show  his  supreme  devotion  by  re- 
siofnino:  his  beloved  son  into  the  hands  of  the 
Lord,  —  all  these  days  were  hidden  from  him 
as  he  entered  upon  the  long  journey.  All 
that  God  required  of  him  was  that  he  would 
meet  them  as  they  came ;  not  beforehand, 
in  imagination,  in  promise  and  definite  reso- 
lution, but  at  the  appointed  hour,  in  the 
crisis  of  trial :  then,  and  not  till  then,  Abra- 
ham must  face  his  conflict,  and  make  his 
sacrifice,  and  hold  fast  his  faith. 

Not  otherwise  does  God  deal  with  us. 
He  does  not  show  us  exactly  what  it  will 
cost  to  obey  Him.  He  asks  us  only  to  give 
what  He  calls  for  from  day  to  day.  Here 
is  one  sacrifice  right  in  front  of  us  that  we 
must  make  now  in  order  to  serve  God,  — 
some  evil  habit  to  be  given  up,  some  lust  of 
the  flesh  to  be  crucified  and  slain ;  and  that 
is  our  trial  for  to-day.  But  to-morrow  that 
trial  may  be  changed  from  a  hardship  into  a 
blessing,  it  may  become  a  joy  and  triumph  to 
us ;  and  another  trial,  new,  different,  unf ore- 


aijvaliam'g  atUijenture  137 

seen,  may  meet  us  in  tlie  way.  Now,  per- 
haps, it  is  poverty  that  you  have  to  endure, 
fighting  with  its  temptations  to  envy  and 
discontent,  and  general  rebellion  against  the 
order  of  the  world  ;  ten  years  hence,  it  may 
be  wealth  that  will  test  you  with  its  tempta- 
tions to  pride,  and  luxury,  and  self-reliance, 
and  general  arrogance  toward  your  fellow- 
men.  Now,  it  may  be  some  selfish  indul- 
gence that  you  have  to  resign  ;  to-morrow, 
it  may  be  some  one  whom  you  love,  from 
whom  you  must  consent  to  part  at  the  call 
of  God.  To-day,  it  may  be  your  ease,  your 
comfort,  your  indolence  that  you  must  sacri- 
fice for  the  sake  of  doing  good  in  the  world ; 
to-morrow,  it  may  be  your  activity,  your 
energy,  the  work  you  delight  in,  that  you 
must  give  up  while  sickness  lays  its  heavy 
hand  upon  you,  and  bids  you  "  stand  and 
wait."  To-day  one  thing,  to-morrow  an- 
other thing ;  and  God  does  not  tell  you 
what  it  will  be  :  He  calls  you  to  go  out  into 
your  adventure  not  knowing  whither  you  go. 
It  is  this  very  indefiniteness  of  the  Chris- 
tian life  that  frightens  imbelief  and  allures 
faith.  It  is  this  very  necessity  of  facing  the 
unknown  that  divides  between  doubting  and 


138  abrajam'fif  ^Hbenture 

believing  souls.  If  we  doubt  the  power  and 
the  love  of  God,  if  we  doubt  the  grace 
and  the  truth  of  Christ,  we  will  hesitate 
and  hold  back.  We  will  demand  to  know 
all  about  the  way  before  we  enter  upon  it. 
"  How  much  must  we  give  up,  what  sacrifices 
must  we  make,  how  shall  we  ever  be  able  to 
meet  the  trials  and  temptations  of  the  fu- 
ture ?  No,  we  cannot  go  out  after  Christ, 
because  we  do  not  know  where  He  will  lead 
us  and  how  hard  it  may  be  to  follow." 

But  if  we  believe  that  this  God  is  our 
God,  and  will  be  our  guide  even  unto  death, 
if  we  believe  that  this  Christ  is  our  only 
Saviour  and  Master,  our  Divine  Leader  and 
Guide,  then  we  can  go  after  Him  the  more 
gladly  just  because  He  does  not  tell  us  all 
at  once  what  we  must  resign  and  suffer  and 
resist  for  his  sake.  That,  indeed,  might 
crush  and  dishearten  us;  for  if  we  knew 
all  at  once,  we  could  not  help  trying  our 
strength  against  it  all.  But  since  Vv^e  know 
only  to-day's  temptation,  to-day's  trial,  to- 
day's conflict,  to-day's  cross,  to-day;  since 
we  know  that  He  who  ordered  it  is  with  us 
and  will  help  us  to  bear  it, — we  can  follow 
Him  in  confidence. 


ai)ral)am'd  ^Uijenture  139 

"  We  know  not  what  the  path  may  be 
As  yet  by  us  nutrod  ; 
But  we  can  trust  our  all  to  thee, 
Our  Father  and  our  God. 

"  If  called  like  Abram's  child  to  climb 
The  hill  of  sacrifice, 
Some  angel  may  be  there  in  time, 
Deliverance  may  arise. 

**  Or  if  some  darker  lot  be  good, 
Oh  teach  us  to  endure 
The  sorrow,  pain,  or  solitude, 
That  makes  the  spirit  pure." 

III.  Once  more,  the  adventure  of  faith 
involves  the  going  out  to  meet  unknown  du- 
ties and  to  perform  hidden  tasks. 

In  one  sense  the  scheme  and  outline  of  a 
religious  life  are  clear  and  distinct  before- 
hand ;  the  principles  of  faith  and  hope  and 
love  by  which  it  is  to  be  guided,  the  laws 
of  righteousness  and  truth  and  mercy  by 
which  it  is  to  be  governed,  are  fixed  and 
unchangeable,  the  same  always  and  for  aU 
men.  But  in  another  sense  the  religious 
life  has  no  scheme  and  outline  at  all.  Its 
responsibilities,  its  opportunities,  its  labours 
arise  from  day  to  day.  One  man  has  one 
thing  to  do ;  another  man  has  another 
thing  to  do.     The  duty  of  the  present  may 


140  9[kal)am'g  ^LUbenture 

be  changed,  enlarged,  transformed  in  the 
future. 

See  how  this  is  brought  out  in  the  life  of 
Abraham.  At  first  he  has  only  to  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  true  God  among  an  idolatrous 
people  ;  and  then  he  has  to  set  out  on  a  per- 
ilous journey  towards  Canaan  ;  and  then  he 
has  to  take  care  of  his  flocks  and  herds  in 
the  wilderness ;  and  then  he  has  to  deliver 
his  kinsman  Lot  from  the  sword  of  the 
tyrant  Chedorlaomer ;  and  then  he  has  to 
exercise  hospitality  towards  the  angels  of 
God.  Abraham's  duty  is  not  written  down 
and  delivered  to  him  at  the  beginning.  It 
is  kept  secret  from  him,  and  he  goes  out  to 
meet  it,  not  knowing  what  it  will  be. 

That  is  the  law  of  the  life  of  faith.  The 
man  who  takes  a  principle  into  his  heart 
commits  himself  to  an  uncertainty,  he  enters 
upon  an  adventure.  He  must  be  ready  for 
unexpected  calls   and   new   responsibilities. 

The  Samaritan  who  rode  down  from  Jeru- 
salem to  Jericho  had  nothing  to  do  in  the 
morning  but  follow  that  highway,  and  take 
care  that  his  beast  did  not  stumble  or  hurt 
itseK,  or  get  tired  out  so  that  it  could  not 
finish  the  journey.     He  was  just  a  solitary 


^iiral^am'g  3lUbcntttre  141 

horseman,  and  all  that  he  needed  to  do  was 
to  have  a  good  seat  in  the  saddle  and  a  light 
hand  on  the  bit.  But  at  noon,  when  he 
came  to  the  place  where  that  unknown  pil- 
grim lay  senseless  and  bleeding  beside  the 
road,  —  then,  in  a  moment,  the  Samaritan's 
duty  changed,  and  God  called  him  to  be  a 
rescuer,  a  nurse,  a  helper  of  the  wounded. 

Peter,  when  he  rested  on  the  housetop  in 
Joppa,  was  only  a  pastor  of  the  Jewish 
Christian  church ;  his  mission  was  to  instruct 
and  guide  his  kinsmen  according  to  the  flesh. 
But  when  the  great  vision  of  a  catholic 
church  flashed  upon  him,  when  the  knocking 
of  the  messengers  of  the  Roman  centurion 
sounded  up  from  the  gate  of  the  courtyard, 
then,  in  a  moment,  Peter's  duty  was  changed, 
and  he  was  called  to  go  to  the  house  of  a 
Gentile  and  proclaim  the  gospel  of  Christ 
without  respect  of  persons.  Read  the  lives 
of  the  heroes  of  faith,  and  you  will  find  that 
they  are  all  like  this.  They  set  out  to  per- 
form, not  one  task  only,  but  anything  that 
God  may  command.  They  accept  Christ's 
commission,  and  set  sail  upon  an  unknown 
ocean  with  sealed  orders. 

That  takes  courage.     It  is  a  risk,  a  ven- 


142  9lbra|)am'fiS  ^tibenturc 

ture.  But  for  tlie  spiritual  as  truly  as  for 
the  temporal  life  the  rule  is,  "  Nothing  ven- 
ture, nothing  win."  And  is  it  not  infi- 
nitely nobler  and  more  inspiring  to  enter 
upon  a  career  like  that,  —  a  career  which 
is  to  run  so  close  to  God  that  He  can  speak 
into  it  and  fill  it  with  new  meanings,  new 
possibilities,  new  tasks,  at  any  moment,  —  is 
not  that  infinitely  finer  and  more  glorious 
than  to  make  a  contract  to  do  a  certain 
thing  for  a  certain  price,  as  if  God  were  a 
manufacturer  and  we  were  his  mill-hands  ? 
It  seems  to  me  that  this  is  the  very  proof 
and  bond  of  friendship  with  Him,  this  call- 
ing of  faith  to  an  unlimited  and  undefined 
obedience.  If  we  will  accept  it,  it  will  send 
us  forward  on  a  life  that  grows  and  expands 
and  unfolds  itself,  and  wins  new  powers  and 
capacities,  as  it  girds  itself  to  meet  the  new 
duties  that  lie  hidden  in  the  future.  It  will 
not  be  a  dull  and  dry  routine :  it  will  be  an 
enterprise,  a  voyage  of  discovery,  an  explo- 
ration of  the  divine  possibilities  of  living. 
And  the  joy  of  it,  the  enthusiasm  and  inspi- 
ration of  it,  will  not  be  the  tame  thought  that 
nothing  more  can  be  required  of  us  than 
what  we  already  see,  but  the  strong  assur- 


^braJbam'g  StKbenture  143 

ance  that  power  will  be  given  to  us  for  every 
task  tliat  our  Master  sets.  "Follow  me," 
He  cried,  "  and  I  will  make  you  fishers  of 
men."  How  and  when  and  where  they 
should  labour  the  disciples  knew  not.  They 
Imew  only  that  He  would  fit  them  for  their 
duty  when  it  met  them.  Even  so  He  speaks 
to  us.  And  even  so  we  must  follow  Him 
into  the  unknown  future,  answering  his  call 
in  the  noble  words  of  St.  Augustine :  "  Lord, 
give  what  thou  commandest,  and  command 
what  thou  wilt." 

IV.  Only  one  word  remains  to  be  added. 
Faith  is  an  adventure ;  it  is  the  courage  of 
the  soul  to  face  the  unknown.  But  that 
courage  springs  from  the  hope  and  confi- 
dence of  the  soul  that  its  adventure  will 
succeed.  Beyond  the  unknown,  beyond  the 
uncertainties  and  perils  and  responsibilities 
of  the  earthly  future,  it  sees  the  certain,  the 
secure,  the  imperishable,  —  "  an  inheritance 
incorruptible  and  imdefiled  and  that  f adeth 
not  away,  reserved  in  heaven  for  you,  who 
are  kept  by  the  power  of  God  through  faith 
unto  salvation,  ready  to  be  revealed  in  the 
last  time." 

How  gTandly  that  certainty  of  faith  comes 


144  airal^am'fi  ^Hibenture 

out  in  the  story  of  Abraham!  A  pilgrim 
and  a  stranger,  a  man  without  a  country, 
wandering  up  and  down  between  the  lands 
of  Egypt  and  Chaldea,  involved  in  strange 
conflicts  and  unexpected  trials,  his  white 
tent  shining  in  the  sunlight  and  shaking  in 
the  wind,  as  it  rested  here  and  there  among 
the  highland  pastures  and  on  the  steep  hills 
of  Caanan,  for  a  hundred  years,  a  sojourner 
in  the  land  of  promise  as  in  a  land  not  his 
own,  —  yet  that  noble  old  father  of  the 
faithful,  that  loyal  friend  and  follower  of 
God,  was  never  an  aimless  man,  never  an 
uncertain  man,  never  a  hopeless  man.  He 
went  forth  not  knowing  whither  he  went, 
but  he  also  looked  for  "  a  city  that  hath 
foundations,  whose  builder  and  maker  is 
God." 

Sublime  assurance,  glorious  pilgrimage! 
And  is  not  that  the  type  and  symbol  of  the 
life  of  faith  ?  Of  the  nearer  future,  the 
future  that  lies  among  the  mountains  and 
valleys,  the  pastures  and  deserts  of  this 
world,  it  is  ignorant,  and  yet  it  does  not 
fear  to  face  it;  for  it  sees  that  the  final 
future,  the  blessed  rest  and  reward  of  the 
soul  that  serves  and  follows  its  Divine  Mas- 


9li)ral)am'6  ^Utjenttire  145 

ter,  is  secure.  It  knows  whither  Christ  has 
gone,  and  it  knows  the  hidden  way.  And 
along  that  way  it  presses  steadily  to  its  goal 
of  everlasting  peace. 

"  On  through  waste  and  blackness, 

O'er  our  desert  road  ; 
On  till  Sinai  greet  us, 

Mountain  of  our  God ! 
On  past  Edom's  valley, 

Moab's  mountain  wall, 
Jordan's  seaboard  rushings. 

The  pillar  cloud  o'er  all ! 
Past  the  palmy  city, 

Rock  and  hill  our  road, 
On  till  Salem  greet  us, 

City  of  our  God !  " 


vir 

SOLOMON'S  CHOICE 

(3i)iit  me  noto  toisUom  anB  ImotolcUp,  tl^at  5  map 
p  out  anU  come  in  htloxz  tUs  people :  for  tobo 
can  ittUse  tl)is  tl;p  people  tl)at  is  so  peat  ?  " 

2  Chronicles  i.  lO. 


*'(0itje  mt  note  totstiDm  anU  linotolcKffe/* 

These  words  were  spoken  by  Solomon, 
the  greatest,  wisest,  and  in  some  respects  the 
meanest  of  the  Hebrew  kings.  His  life  is 
one  of  the  standing  riddles  of  history.  Never 
man  began  so  fairly  and  ended  so  darkly. 
The  blossoms  of  his  youth  were  like  the  flow- 
ers on  the  tree  of  life  :  the  fruits  of  his  old 
age  were  like  Dead  Sea  apples,  full  of  dust. 
In  him  genius  was  wedded  to  sin,  and  success 
was  the  mother  of  failure.  Bright  as  was 
the  promise  of  his  early  years,  glorious  as 
were  the  achievements  of  his  manhood,  the 
clouds  that  gathered  round  his  death  were  so 
heavy  and  dark  that  men  have  remained  in 
doubt  whether  his  final  place  is  among  the 
saved  or  among  the  lost.  The  fathers  of  the 
church  held  opposite  opinions  on  the  sub- 
ject ;  and  in  Pietro  Lorenzetti's  great  fresco 
of  the  resurrection,  in  the  Campo  Santo  at 
Pisa,  the  uncertainty  of  Solomon's  fate  is 


150  ^olomon'fi!  Cl^tiice 

represented  by  the  painter,  who  has  placed 
him  in  the  middle  of  the  picture,  looking 
doubtfully  aroimd,  not  Iniowing  whether  he 
is  to  be  called  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the 
left.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  painter  was 
prudent,  for  the  question  of  final  destiny  is 
one  which  we  can  never  solve  in  regard  to 
any  human  being.  Wise  and  simple,  beggar 
and  king,  as  they  pass  from  our  sight,  we 
must  leave  them  to  the  justice  and  mercy  of 
the  omniscient  God. 

But  the  questions  of  character  and  con- 
duct as  they  arise  here  in  this  world  are 
within  the  reach  of  our  understanding,  and 
it  is  to  a  study  of  some  of  these  questions  as 
they  are  suggested  by  the  life  of  Solomon 
that  I  invite  your  attention  now.  The  his- 
tory of  his  life  is  illustrated  in  three  great 
visions  which  came  to  him  at  three  successive 
periods  of  his  strange  career.  Three  times 
God  visited  him  in  the  night  watches  :  three 
times  the  curtain  which  hides  the  future 
was  lifted,  and  the  darkness  of  his  sleep  was 
illumined  with  the  secret  flash  of  truth. 

The  first  vision  came  at  the  beginning  of 
his  career,  when  the  untried  course  of  life 
was  just  opening  before  him.     It  contained 


Solomon's  Choice  151 

a  glorious  promise  and  a  solemn  warning. 
It  revealed  the  elements  of  strength  and  the 
elements  of  weakness  in  one  of  the  most 
marvellous  characters  the  world  has  ever 
seen.  The  Lord  appeared  to  him  in  Gibeon 
and  said,  "  Ask  what  I  shall  give  thee."  Solo- 
mon's answer  was  in  the  words  of  the  text. 

The  second  vision  came  to  him  at  the  very 
climax  of  his  splendour  and  power,  when  the 
great  temple,  which  was  the  central  spot  of 
glory  in  his  land  and  in  his  reign,  was  com- 
pleted and  dedicated.  When  the  echoes  of 
rejoicing  had  died  away  in  the  royal  city,  and 
the  people  were  returning  with  gladness  to 
their  tents,  then  the  Lord  appeared  to  Solo- 
mon the  second  time,  as  He  had  appeared 
unto  him  at  Gibeon.  The  awful  voice, 
sounding  in  the  silence  of  the  king's  heart, 
declared  that  the  prayer  of  dedication  had 
been  heard.  The  temple  was  accepted  and 
blessed.  God  would  make  his  dwelling  there 
perpetually.  "  But  if  ye  shall  at  all  turn 
from  following  me,  ye  or  your  children,  and 
will  not  keep  my  commandments  and  my 
statutes  which  I  have  set  before  you,  but  go 
and  serve  other  gods,  and  worship  them  ; 
then  will  I  cut  oE  Israel  out  of  the  land 


152  ^olamon'fii  Choice 

which  I  have  given  them ;  and  this  house, 
which  I  have  hallowed  for  my  name,  will  I 
cast  out  of  my  sight ;  and  Israel  shall  be  a 
proverb  and  a  byword  among  all  nations." 

The  third  vision  came  to  the  king  in  the 
decline  and  shame  of  his  old  age,  when  the 
evils  against  which  he  had  been  warned  had 
come  upon  him,  when  his  heart  had  been 
entangled  with  strange  women  and  stranger 
gods,  when  the  misused  wealth  and  perverted 
power  which  had  been  his  were  turning  to 
dross  and  corruption  within  his  hands.  Then 
God  was  angry  with  him,  and  appeared  to 
him  once  more  and  said :  "  Forasmuch  as 
this  is  done  of  thee,  and  thou  hast  not  kept 
my  covenant  and  my  statutes  which  I  have 
commanded  thee,  I  will  surely  rend  the  king- 
dom from  thee,  and  will  give  it  to  thy  ser- 
vant. Notwithstanding  in  thy  days  I  will 
not  do  it,  for  David  thy  father's  sake :  but 
I  will  rend  it  out  of  the  hand  of  thy  son." 
A  dreadful  dream,  stern,  angry,  terrible: 
the  only  gleam  of  mercy  in  it  was  shown,  not 
for  Solomon's  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  his 
dead  father,  who  was  dear  to  God  ;  a  vision 
of  dishonour  and  darkness  and  swift-coming 
disaster  closinoj  with  black  wino^s  about  the 


^Dlomon'fi  Cl)oice  153 

declining  days  of  him  who  had  once  been 
the  brightest  and  most  prosperous  and  best 
beloved  of  Israel's  monarchs.  What  is  the 
meaning  of  it  ?  How  shall  we  explain  it  ? 
How  shall  we  read  and  understand  its  lesson  ? 
How  is  it  possible  that  a  dream  so  bright 
and  fair  as  that  which  crowned  his  youth 
should  turn  into  a  dream  so  black  and  shame- 
ful as  that  which  shadowed  his  old  age  ? 

It  is  to  solve  this  mystery  that  I  ask  you 
to  turn  back  again  to  the  opening  vision  of 
Solomon's  life.  Scrutinize  it  more  closely, 
study  it  more  deeply.  See  if  you  cannot 
discern  in  it  the  fatal  flaw  which  marred 
the  character  of  the  royal  philosopher,  and 
through  which  at  last  his  life  was  brought 
to  ruin. 

The  circumstances  of  Solomon  at  the  time 
of  this  first  and  most  famous  dream  are  wor- 
thy of  our  careful  attention.  He  was,  as  you 
know,  the  youngest  son  of  King  David,  who 
by  his  strong  and  heroic  qualities,  under  the 
blessing  of  God,  had  brought  the  kingdom 
to  a  state  of  prosperity  and  power.  The 
sovereignty  of  Israel  at  the  close  of  David's 
long  and  warlike  reign  was  something  vastly 
richer  and  grander  and  more  potent  than  it 


154  ^olflmon'g  €Wtt 

was  when  the  big,  blundering  Saul  was  chosen 
king  ;  and  the  sceptre  which  David  held  in 
his  weary  and  trembling  hand  was  the  sym- 
bol of  a  wide  and  successful  dominion  over 
a  turbulent  but  mighty  people.  To  whom 
should  he  leave  it?  His  two  oldest  sons, 
Absalom  and  Ammon,  had  proved  unworthy, 
and  were  dead.  The  old  king's  heart  turned 
now  to  his  last-born  child,  the  darling  of 
his  declining  years,  and  to  him  he  gave  the 
kingdom,  calling  him  Solomon,  "  the  peace- 
ful one,"  and  centring  all  the  hope  and  love 
of  his  heart  upon  the  happiness  and  pros- 
perity of  this  chosen  son. 

How  strange  it  is,  and  yet  how  common, 
for  the  father  to  desire  a  character  and  des- 
tiny for  his  son  different  from  his  own !  The 
man  of  war  desires  his  heir  to  be  a  man 
of  peace.  And  how  strange  also,  and  yet 
how  nearly  inevitable,  that  the  father's  sins 
should  entwine  themselves  with  the  life  of 
the  child  that  he  loves  best ! 

The  mother  of  Solomon  was  Bathsheba,  a 
woman  of  gi-eat  beauty,  but  of  whose  moral 
character  the  less  said  the  better,  for  she  was 
certainly  the  occasion,  and  I  cannot  help 
feeling  that  she  was  at  least  passively  the 


jolomon'fi  Clioicc  155 


cause,  of  her  husband's  death  and  her  mon- 
arch's crime ;  and  she  was  the  only  one  who 
profited  by  the  whole  shameful  history,  for 
it  raised  her  not  im willingly  from  the  wife  of 
a  common  man  to  the  wife  of  a  king.  "  Now 
in  Eastern  lands  and  under  a  system  of  poly- 
gamy," says  a  wise  observer,  "  the  son  is  more 
dependent  even  than  elsewhere  upon  the  char- 
acter of  the  mother."  And  I  believe  that 
Solomon's  whole  life  felt  the  influence  of 
such  a  mother.  Ambitious  but  comfort-lov- 
ing, passionate  but  cold,  inwardly  sensual  but 
outvrardly  devout,  fascinating  but  intensely 
selfish,  she  was  one  of  those  whom  Goethe 
called  "  problematic  characters,"  who  attain 
the  greatest  external  success,  but  are  forever 
unhappy  and  unsatisfied  because  they  never 
lose  or  forget  themselves.  And  from  her, 
by  birth  and  education,  Solomon  received 
the  qualities  which  were  brought  out  in  his 
after-life. 

He  was  admirably  fitted  to  rule,  trained 
in  all  the  requirements  of  royalty',  inspired 
with  a  sense  of  the  dignity  and  responsibility 
of  his  position,  every  inch  a  king  ;  but  he 
was  never  taught  to  escape  from  his  great- 
est foe  and  final  destroyer,  himself ;  and  thus 


15a  Solomon's  Choice 

his  noblest  actions  and  his  greatest  successes 
were  turned  into  failures. 

But  we  are  running  before  our  history. 
Let  us  turn  back  to  regard  Solomon,  the 
young  king,  not  yet  twenty  years  of  age, 
seated  on  the  throne  of  his  father,  the  in- 
heritor of  a  dominion  among  the  most  splen- 
did of  the  Eastern  world.  He  desires  to 
inaugurate  his  reign  with  an  act  of  religious 
worship,  for  this  is  eminently  proper,  and  in 
no  other  way  will  his  royal  magnificence  be 
seen  to  better  advantage.  God  has  forbid- 
den the  people  to  offer  sacrifice  in  the  high 
places  on  the  mountain-tops,  but  custom  has 
sanctioned  the  violation  of  this  command, 
and  Solomon  cares  more  for  the  popular 
usage  and  for  a  grand  display  than  for 
a  forgotten  and  obsolete  law.  He  goes  with 
a  solemn  procession  to  the  top  of  Mt.  Gibeon, 
where  stands  the  great  brazen  altar  of  Beza- 
leel,  and  there  he  offers  a  thousand  burnt- 
offerings,  filling  the  whole  heavens  with  the 
smoke  of  his  kingly  sacrifices  and  the  noise 
of  his  royal  worship. 

The  smoke  rolls  away.  The  last  echoes 
of  the  solemn  music  die  among  the  hills. 
Solomon  is  asleep  in  his  tent  on  the  moun- 


^olomon'fi  Cl)oitc  157 

tain.  And  now  comes  that  wondrous  dream 
whicli  foreshadows  the  course  of  his  whole 
life.  God  appears  to  him,  and  asks  him  to 
choose  that  which  he  desires  more  than  all 
things  else.  Solomon  chooses  "  wisdom  and 
knowledge  to  go  out  and  come  in  before 
the  people."  God  approves  the  choice  and 
promises  to  add  wealth  and  honour.  Solo- 
mon awakes  and  the  dream  is  true  ;  but,  for 
all  that,  he  dies  in  sin  and  sorrow  and  dishon- 
our.    How  shall  we  explain  the  mystery  ? 

Three  questions,  it  seems  to  me,  will  go  to 
the  root  of  the  matter  :  — 

Why  did  God  approve  of  Solomon's  choice, 
and  yet  not  approve  of  him  ? 

Why  was  Solomon  the  wisest  of  men,  and 
yet  one  of  the  greatest  of  fools  ? 

Why  did  Solomon  have  all  that  he  de- 
sired, and  yet  remain  forever  unsatisfied  ? 

I.  God  approved  of  Solomon's  choice  be- 
cause it  was  relatively  right.  As  between 
wealth  and  fame  and  wisdom,  the  young  king 
instantly  and  instinctively  seized  the  greatest 
and  noblest  of  the  three.  Wisdom  is  more 
than  riches  or  fame,  because  it  is  the  fountain 
of  both.  An  understanding  heart,  the  ability 
to  discriminate  between  the  good   and  the 


158  ^oloitton'fif  Cl^oice 

bad  among  men  and  causes  and  enterprises, 
is  certainly  the  most  valuable  possession  for 
every  man,  especially  for  one  who  is  called 
to  rule  over  his  fellows.  For  without  this, 
the  richest  and  most  powerful  potentate  will 
come  to  nought.  How  strange  that  men, 
even  from  the  standpoint  of  this  world,  do 
not  understand  this  !  They  crave  wealth, 
not  thinking  that  wealth  in  the  hands  of  a 
fool  only  makes  him  a  prey  to  knaves.  They 
aspire  to  power,  not  remembering  that  power 
in  the  hands  of  one  who  is  not  wise  enough 
for  it  only  makes  him  a  laughing-stock.  How 
many  a  weak  brother,  who  might  have  lived 
respected  in  obscurity,  has  become  ridiculous 
by  the  sudden  gift  of  riches  or  office !  Wis- 
dom is  the  principal  thing,  for  if  a  man  has 
that  he  can  acquire  and  use  the  others.  And 
Solomon's  magnificence,  the  prosperity  of  his 
kingdom,  and  the  fame  of  his  reign  all  came 
from  his  gift  of  wisdom,  so  wisely  chosen. 

But  although  this  choice  was  relatively 
right,  it  was  not  absolutely  the  best.  There 
was  something  better  for  which  he  might 
have  asked,  and  which,  if  he  had  received  it, 
would  have  brought  down  the  blessing  of 
God  not  only  upon  his  reign,  but  upon  his 
own  soul  forever. 


^alomon'g  Clioice  159 

What  was  tlie  burden  of  David's  prayers 
before  God  ?  What  was  the  deep  and  burn- 
ing desire  of  David's  heart,  not  only  in  his 
youth,  but  also  in  his  old  age,  growing  and 
deepening  as  it  was  answered  and  fed  by 
God  ?  It  was  the  longing  for  holiness,  the 
consuming  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteous- 
ness, which  is  the  noblest  pain  and  the  richest 
want  of  the  soul.  Blessed  are  they  who  feel 
it,  for  they  shall  be  filled.  "  Create  in  me  a 
clean  heart,  O  God,  and  renew  a  right  spirit 
within  me."  This  was  David's  prayer,  the 
highest  and  the  best :  not  first  an  understand- 
ing heart,  but  first  a  clean  heart,  cleansed  by 
the  Divine  pardon  from  the  stains  of  guilt,  and 
freed  by  the  Divine  power  from  the  defile- 
ment of  sin.  He  felt  the  burden  of  iniquity, 
the  shame  and  sorrow  of  uncleanness,  the 
slavery  of  self,  and  he  cried  to  be  delivered. 
If  God  would  grant  him  this,  it  would  be 
more  to  him  than  all  beside.  "  Purge  me 
with  hyssop  and  I  shall  be  clean  ;  wash  me 
and  I  shall  be  whiter  than  snow." 

This  is  the  noblest  choice.  Wisdom  is 
good,  but  holiness  is  as  far  above  wisdom 
as  Christ  is  above  Socrates.  If  Solomon 
had  only  been  wise  enough  to  choose  this. 


160  ^olomon'fii  Choice 

if  he  had  only  felt  his  greatest  weakness  and 
his  deepest  need,  and  asked  for  a  pure  and 
holy  heart,  how  rich  beyond  expression  would 
have  been  the  results  of  that  vision,  —  rich 
not  only  for  this  world,  but  for  that  which 
is  to  come :  rich  in  the  approval  of  the  liv- 
ing God;  rich  in  the  salvation  of  his  im- 
mortal soul;  rich  in  an  entrance  into  that 
heavenly  kingdom  which  shall  endure  when 
all  the  thrones  and  crowns  and  sceptres  of 
this  world  have  criimbled  into  dust  I 

Let  us  remember  that  while  these  earthly 
kingdoms  are  founded  upon  wealth  and 
power  and  wisdom,  God's  kingdom  is 
founded  on  holiness  of  character.  And 
though  we  may  achieve  greatness  in  these 
lower  realms,  though  we  may  become  mer- 
chant princes,  or  political  rulers,  or  kings 
of  thought,  the  least  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  yes,  the  simplest,  poorest  child  who 
has  known  God's  love  and  felt  his  purifying 
Spirit  in  the  heart,  will  be  greater  than  we 
are,  so  long  as  our  sole  inheritance  is  in  the 
kingdoms  of  this  world. 

II.  Why  was  Solomon  the  wisest  of  men, 
and  yet  one  of  the  greatest  of  fools  ?  In 
order  to  answer  this  question  we  must  scruti- 


§>ol0man'fi;  Cljoice  161 

nize  his  choice  very  closely.  And  if  we  do 
this  we  shall  see  that  the  wisdom  for  which 
he  asked  was  peculiar  and  limited.  It  was 
political  wisdom,  such  as  befits  a  king  and 
renders  him  able  to  rule  successfully  over  the 
minds  of  men.  He  felt  that  the  difficulties 
of  governing  his  tumultuous  and  rebellious 
people  would  be  almost  insuperable  unless  he 
had  a  more  than  human  insight  into  charac- 
ter, and  tact  in  controlling  men.  And  so  he 
asked  for  wisdom  and  knowledge  to  go  out 
and  come  in  before  the  people. 

Now,  as  a  king,  this  was  what  he  most 
needed.  But  Solomon  was  a  man  before 
he  was  a  king.  And,  as  a  man,  what  he 
most  needed  was  an  understanding  heart  to 
guide  his  own  life.  Perhaps  he  thought  he 
was  wise  enough  for  this  already.  Perhaps 
he  thought  he  was  able  to  rule  his  inner 
kingdom  for  himself,  if  God  would  only  help 
him  with  the  outer.  And  herein  lay  his 
folly,  for  a  man  can  more  easily  control  and 
guide  the  destinies  of  a  great  nation  than  he 
can  bind  and  direct  the  passions  of  his  own 
disordered  and  tumultuating  heart. 

It  is  easier  to  take  a  city  than  to  rule  your 
own  spirit.     History  proves  it  in  the  lives  of 


162  g)nl0inon'6  Choice 

hundreds  of  great  men  wlio  have  been  able 
to  control  the  forces  of  politics,  but  not  to 
guide  their  own  lives,  not  to  resist  their  own 
besetting  sins  of  avarice  or  lust.  It  would 
be  strange  if  we  could  not  read  this  lesson 
in  our  own  times  in  the  dark,  sad  story  of 
Iludolj)h,  the  crown-prince  of  Austria.  Heir 
to  one  of  the  proudest  thrones  of  Europe,  bril- 
liant in  his  natural  gifts,  and  developed  by 
education  into  a  man  of  many  accomplish- 
ments, skilled  in  art  and  letters,  and  quali- 
fied to  adorn  his  lofty  station  with  extraor- 
dinary success,  he  was  driven  by  his  own  hot 
and  untamed  passions,  in  the  prime  of  his 
young  manhood,  to  a  dishonourable  death 
and  a  suicide's  grave. 

Solomon's  fatal  weakness  was  for  wives. 
I  do  not  suppose  that  we  are  to  understand 
that  he  was  a  gross  sensualist.  He  probably 
sought  mental  excitement  and  change  in  the 
organization  of  his  great  household.  One 
of  his  chief  objects  was  to  increase  his  politi- 
cal influence  by  contracting  alliances  with 
the  princesses  of  surrounding  nations.  He 
thought  he  could  manage  the  women,  but  he 
was  foolish,  for  of  course  the  women  man- 
aged him.     And  stiU  he  went  on  adding  to 


S)olomon'£(  Choice  163 

liis  burdens  and  entanglements,  every  month 
bringing  a  new  princess  into  the  royal  house- 
hold, and  every  princess  bringing  a  new  god, 
until  at  length  he  had  seven  hundred  wives 
and  three  hundred  concubines,  and  I  think 
we  must  agree  that  the  last  state  of  that 
man  was  worse  than  the  first.  Hated  by 
his  people  for  the  heavy  burdens  of  taxation 
which  he  was  forced  to  lay  upon  them  for 
the  support  of  his  costly  household,  turned 
hither  and  thither  by  wives  who  neither  un- 
derstood his  wisdom  nor  cared  for  his  great- 
ness but  only  for  his  gold,  worshipping  at 
the  shrines  of  a  hundred  gods  in  none  of 
whom  he  believed,  —  what  an  old  age  is 
this !  It  is  the  very  mockery  of  greatness, 
the  supreme  irony  of  fate,  that  the  hoary 
head  of  the  wisest  of  monarchs  should  be 
crowned  by  his  own  hands  with  the  cap  of 
the  fool.  And  all  this  because  he  did  not 
understand  that  to  guide  one's  own  life  is  a 
harder  and  more  perilous  task  than  to  rule  a 
kingdom,  because  he  did  not  learn  to  pray 
with  David,  "  Teach  me  thy  way,  O  Lord, 
and  lead  me  in  a  plain  path  ;  send  out  thy 
light  and  thy  truth,  let  them  lead  me." 
III.  Let  us  ask,  now,  the  third  and  last 


164  Solomon's  Cliotce 

question.  "Why  did  Solomon  have  all  that 
he  desired,  and  yet  remain  unhappy  ?  The 
answer  is  simple  and  straightforward :  be- 
cause he  never  forgot  or  lost  himseK.  He 
ti'ied  to  be  happy.  That  was  the  chief  end 
and  aim  of  his  life,  his  own  success,  his  own 
felicity.  He  did  not  seek  it  in  a  low  and 
sensual  way ;  not  in  coarse  pleasures  nor  in 
trifling  pursuits.  Solomon  was  far  too  wise 
for  that.  But  in  a  high  and  grand  and  royal 
way  he  sought  for  happiness.  The  dehght  of 
knowing  and  understanding  all  things,  the  joy 
of  feeling  that  in  him  more  wisdom  was  cen- 
tred than  in  all  men  before  or  after,  the  pride 
of  the  most  splendid  temple  and  the  most 
prosperous  kingdom  and  the  most  beneficent 
reign,  —  thus  he  sought  his  happiness  and 
thus  he  never  found  it ;  for  it  is  a  law  of 
God  that  they  who  will  be  happy  never  shall 
be ;  never  shall  clasp  the  phantom  after 
which  they  run  so  eagerly,  never  shall  feel 
the  deep  sweet  calm  of  a  contented  soul, 
never  shall  rest  in  perfect  peace,  until  they 
cease  their  mad  chase,  forget  and  deny  them- 
selves, and  are  lost  and  absorbed  in  some 
noble  and  unselfish  pursuit.  Then,  and  then 
only,  happiness  comes,  as  the  angels  came  to 


fjolomon'fis  C!)oice  165 

Jesus  in  the  desert,  and  in  Gethsemane, 
when  He  had  renounced  all  hope  of  joy. 

"  He  that  loseth  his  life  shaU  find  it." 
The  words  of  the  Master,  who  was  wiser 
than  Solomon,  are  true  now  as  then.  We 
cannot  have  happiness  until  we  forget  to 
seek  for  it.  We  cannot  find  peace  until  we 
enter  the  path  of  self-sacrificing  usefulness. 
We  cannot  be  delivered  from  this  "vain 
expense  of  passions  that  forever  ebb  and 
flow,"  this  wretched,  torturing,  unsatisfied, 
unsatisfying  self,  until  we  come  to  Jesus  and 
give  our  lives  to  Him  to  be  absorbed  as  his 
life  was  in  loving  obedience  to  God  and  lov- 
ing service  to  our  fellow-men. 

Let  us  dravf  this  lesson  from  Solomon's 
dream.  If  God  says  to  us,  in  the  bright 
promise  of  youth,  "  Ask  what  I  shall  give 
thee,"  let  us  make  the  best  choice,  and  an- 
swer, "  Give  me  gTace  to  know  thy  Son,  the 
Christ,  and  to  grow  like  Him  ;  for  that  is 
the  true  wisdom  which  leads  to  eternal  life, 
and  that  is  the  true  royalty  which  brings 
dominion  over  self,  and  that  is  the  true  hap- 
piness which  flows  unsought  from  fellowship 
with  the  Divine  Life." 


VIII 

PETER'S   MISTAKE 

^nU  pttcr  anfitoeretf  an^  caiU  to  'S^^^^*  JHastcr, 
it  is  sooa  for  tts  to  be  l)cre :  anU  let  ttc  make 
tl)rce  ta&emaclcfi ;  one  for  tl)ee,  anU  one  for 
jHoecfi,  anti  one  for  €lm.  Jor  l^e  )sii6t  not 
to^at  to  sap/* 

Mar^  ix.  5,  6. 


"^nU  JJeter  ansitoerEtr  antr  mti  to  ^tmn,  JHas-- 
ttVp  it  is  ffootf  for  us  to  be  Ijtvt :  anU  let  ns 
mafee  t|)ree  tabernacles :  one  for  tUt,  anU  one 
for  ifllosefi,  anU  one  for  €lias/' 

All  of  tlie  apostles  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  made  mistakes,  for  they  were  all 
human.  But  the  Apostle  Peter  seems  to 
have  been  almost  more  human  than  the 
others,  and  so  more  liable  to  error.  There 
is  no  possibility  of  taking  him  for  a  mythical 
character,  a  demigod,  or  a  legendary  hero. 
He  is  too  much  like  ourselves.  A  vessel 
filled  to  the  brim  with  water  is  apt  to  spill  a 
little  when  it  is  shaken.  Peter  is  so  full 
of  human  nature  that,  whenever  he  is  ex- 
cited or  agitated,  it  seems  to  overflow,  and 
some  word  or  deed  comes  out,  which  would 
be  almost  childish  in  its  impulsiveness,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  virile  force  of  the  great 
strong  heart  behind  it.  The  consequence  of 
this  is,  that  he  is  more  often  in  trouble,  more 


170  T^titx'6  iHtfittalie 

frequently  rebuked  and  corrected,  than  any 
other  of  the  disciples. 

And  yet  we  love  the  Apostle  Peter.  "We 
cannot  help  it.  He  was  a  man,  take  him 
for  all  in  all.  The  very  impetuosity  which 
so  often  led  him  into  a  false  position  was 
a  quality  which,  under  proper  discipline  and 
restraint,  fitted  him  to  become  the  chief  of 
the  apostles,  and  the  leader  of  the  aggres- 
sive work  of  the  church.  I  would  rather 
have  a  man  who  sometimes  caught  fire  at  the 
wrong  time,  than  one  so  damp  and  flabby 
that  you  could  never  get  a  spark  of  enthusi- 
asm out  of  liim.  A  clock  which  sometimes 
goes  too  fast  is  better  than  one  which  never 
goes  at  all.  And  there  was  one  thing  of 
which  you  could  be  always  sure  with  Peter, 
—  he  never  would  profess  to  love  you  while 
at  heart  he  was  indifferent  or  hostile  to  you. 
He  never  would  put  his  arm  over  your 
shoulder  and  call  you  "  dear  brother  "  while 
he  was  secretly  endeavouring  to  get  hold  of 
your  money,  or  circulating  vague  reports  to 
discredit  your  reputation  or  undermine  your 
influence.  You  could  rely  on  seeing  the 
worst  and  the  best  of  Peter  at  once.  He 
had   not  much  tact,  but  his   stock  of  can- 


JJeter'fi  iHifitalu  171 


dour  was  large.  And  it  seems  to  me  that 
in  all  his  errors,  with  one  possible  exception, 
there  was  a  root  of  true  and  noble  feeling. 
You  will  observe,  in  regard  to  the  particu- 
lar mistake  which  we  are  now  to  consider, 
first,  that  Peter  knew  that  it  was  a  mistake ; 
and,  second,  that  he  was  not  ashamed  to  say 
80,  and  to  make  record  of  it  against  himself. 
It  is  in  order  to  bring  out  these  two  points 
that  I  have  chosen  the  text  from  St.  Mark's 
Gospel.  It  woiJd  have  been  just  as  easy  to 
take  it  from  St.  Matthew  or  St.  Luke,  but 
not  half  so  instructive.  For  that  which  we 
call  the  Gospel  according  to  Mark  is  in 
reality  the  Gospel  according  to  Peter.  Mark 
himself  had  not  been  a  personal  hearer  or 
companion  of  Christ,  but  he  was  the  evan- 
gelist, the  scribe  —  or,  as  Papias  caUs  him, 
the  interpreter  —  of  Peter,  attaching  himself 
to  the  apostle  as  a  disciple  and  friend,  lis- 
tening with  eager  attention  to  his  remem- 
brances of  the  life  and  teachings  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  and  his  intercourse  with  the 
twelve,  and  writing  down  these  things  with 
conscientious  care  in  order  that  after  Peter's 
death  they  might  not  be  lost,  but  faithfully 
given  to  the  church.     In  effect,  therefore,  it 


172  ^tUf6  JIKfitalie 

is  Peter  himseK  who  tells  us  in  the  text  what 
he  said  on  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration. 
It  is  Peter  himseK  who  recognizes  the  folly 
of  it.  It  is  Peter  himself  who  explains  it 
with  the  humble  confession  that  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  talking  about,  that  he 
said  it  just  for  the  sake  of  saying  something, 
"for  he  wist  not  what  to  say." 

How  hard  it  is  to  make  an  acknowledgment 
like  this,  to  confess  that  we  have  spoken 
without  thinking,  that  we  have  talked  non- 
sense! How  many  a  man  says  a  thing  in 
haste  or  in  heat,  without  fully  understanding 
or  half  meaning  it,  and  then,  because  he  has 
said  it,  holds  fast  to  it,  and  tries  to  defend 
it  as  if  it  were  true !  But  how  much  wiser, 
how  much  more  admirable  and  attractive,  it 
is  when  a  man  has  the  grace  to  perceive  and 
acknowledge  his  mistakes !  It  gives  us  assur- 
ance that  he  is  capable  of  learning,  of  grow- 
ing, of  improving,  so  that  his  future  will  be 
better  than  his  past ;  and,  especially  in  an 
autobiography,  it  makes  us  feel  that  we  are 
reading,  not  a  cunningly  devised  fable  of 
impossible  excellence,  but  the  story  of  a  real 
life.  It  is  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  sense 
of  confidence  which  we  feel  towards  this  nar- 


JJeter'g  fSii6tzkt  173 

rative  when  we  hear  Peter  telling  the  story 
of  his  own  foolish  saying  as  one  of  the  in- 
cidents of  the  scene. 

"  He  wist  not  what  to  say ;  "  he  was  so 
overwhelmed  with  wonder  and  awe,  he  was 
so  carried  out  of  himself,  that  he  felt  him- 
self utterly  unable  to  express  his  feelings. 
His  thoughts  were  shaken  from  their  bal- 
ance by  the  rush  of  emotion,  and  he  stam- 
mered out  the  first  words  that  came  to  his 
tongue.  Something  very  marvellous  must 
have  happened  to  cause  this  confusion  of 
mind.  Let  us  inquire  what  it  was.  Let 
us  recall  the  events  which  immediately  pre- 
ceded Peter's  mistake. 

Surely  we  must  feel,  as  we  read  the  sim- 
ple, graphic  account  which  is  given  by  the 
first  three  Gospels,  that  we  also  are  like 
Peter,  and  know  not  what  to  say.  The 
Transfiguration  of  Christ  is  one  of  those 
wonderfully  beautiful  things  which  seem  to 
defy  analysis  or  description.  When  we  try 
to  conjure  up  the  scene,  imagination  fails, 
and  fancy,  dazzled  by  the  radiance,  folds  her 
wings  before  her  eyes  and  is  lost  in  dreams. 
Vainly  has  the  genius  of  poet  and  painter 
attempted  to  depict  the  soft  glory  of  that 


174  JJeter'g  JHifitalke 

event.  The  liighest  acliievement  even  of  a 
Raphael  falls  far  short  of  the  reality ;  and 
his  great  picture  in  the  Vatican  is  in  fact 
only  a  confession  of  the  impotence  of  the 
loftiest  art  to  rise  to  the  level  of  the  divine. 
But  while  the  actual  wonder  —  the  burst  of 
splendour  which  irradiated  and  transformed 
the  body  of  our  blessed  Lord  —  must  re- 
main for  us  a  bright,  inexplicable  mystery, 
there  are  many  details  connected  with  the 
event  which  we  can  study  and  bring  out 
more  clearly ;  and  this  will  certainly  help 
us  to  understand  it  better. 

In  the  first  place  we  ought  to  notice,  what 
may  have  hitherto  escaped  our  attention, 
the  time  and  the  circumstances  of  the  event. 
It  was  not  thrown  by  chance  into  the  his- 
tory of  Christ,  —  a  stray  flash  of  glory  fall- 
ing without  design  into  the  darkness  of  his 
lowly  life.  There  was  a  reason  why  it 
should  come  just  then.  There  was  a  close 
connection  between  the  Transfiguration  and 
the  events  which  preceded  and  followed  it. 

It  was  just  one  week  after  that  memora- 
ble day  at  Caesarea  Philippi,  when  the  noble 
impulsiveness  of  Peter  had  led  him  to  make, 
before  any  of  his  brethren,  that  confession 


JJeter'fi  JHifitalte  175 

of  faith  wliicli  Christ  said  should  be  the 
foundation-rock  of  his  church.  "  Thou  art 
the  Christ,  the  son  of  the  living  God,"  cried 
the  strong-hearted  apostle ;  and  you  remem- 
ber the  blessing  which  followed  these  words. 
But  do  you  remember  also  what  came  after 
that?  Do  you  remember  that  Jesus  then 
began  to  teach  his  disciples  "  that  the  Son 
of  man  must  suffer  many  things,  and  be  re- 
jected of  the  elders  and  of  the  chief  priests 
and  scribes,  and  be  killed,  and  after  tliree 
days  rise  again  "  ?  These  were  hard  lessons 
for  the  disciples  to  learn,  just  at  the  moment 
when  their  faith  in  the  Master  was  open- 
ing its  first  buds  of  promise.  The  gospels 
make  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  they  did  not, 
would  not,  could  not  believe  them.  These 
were  hard  lessons,  also,  for  Jesus  to  teach. 
The  thought  of  his  shameful  rejection  by 
his  people,  the  cruel  treachery  of  Judas,  the 
gloom  and  anguish  of  the  crucifixion,  the 
bitter  and  inexplicable  pangs  of  the  atone- 
ment, pressed  heavily  upon  his  soul.  They 
seemed  to  descend  upon  Him  at  this  time 
with  peculiar  force  and  intensity,  as  a  dif- 
fused mist  thickens  suddenly  into  an  impen- 
etrable cloud.     And   now  began  that  long 


176  |)eter'£S  iHifitalie 

agony  which  culminated  in  the  garden  o£ 
Gethsemane.  It  was  not  easy  for  Christ 
to  face  shame  and  death.  Not  easier,  but 
harder,  infinitely  harder,  than  it  would  have 
been  for  you  and  me. 

The  week  that  followed  this  announcement 
of  his  approaching  crucifixion  is  passed  over 
in  silence  by  the  gospels.  But  we  can 
easily  believe  that  it  was  spent  by  Christ  in 
close  and  loving  intercourse  with  his  disci- 
ples, trying  to  familiarize  them  with  this  sor- 
rowful thought.  And  then,  one  evening, 
when  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  western 
sky  and  the  cool  hush  of  twilight  was  fall- 
ing upon  the  weary  world,  He  separated 
himself  from  the  larger  company,  and  taking 
with  Him  the  three  men  who  were  nearest 
to  his  human  heart,  —  the  three  who  had 
most  need  and  most  fitness  for  such  a  reve- 
lation as  was  coming,  —  He  went  up  into  a 
high  mountain  to  pray.  He  wished  seclu- 
sion, but  not  solitude.  He  shrank  from  the 
pressure  of  the  crowd,  but  not  from  the  soci- 
ety of  those  whom  He  loved. 

I  think  there  is  something  profoundly 
touching  in  this  trait  of  Jesus'  character,  — 
that  He  always,  in  every  experience  of  the 


letter's  JHifitalie  177 

highest  joy  or  the  deepest  sorrow,  in  the 
death-chamber  of  Jairus'  daughter,  at  the 
grave  of  Lazarus,  in  the  garden  of  Geth- 
semane,  and  on  the  Mount  of  Transfigu- 
ration, wished  to  have  within  call  of  his 
voice,  and  within  reach  of  his  hand,  some 
friend  whom  He  knew  and  trusted,  some 
one  who  could  give  Him  the  sense  of  human 
sympathy.  That  is  a  chilly  and  frost-bound 
disposition  which  prefers  to  enjoy  its  happi- 
ness or  bear  its  grief  alone.  The  presence 
of  a  friend  who  can  feel  with  us,  even  though 
imperfectly,  the  mere  silent  presence  of  a 
friend,  even  though  he  be  asleep,  as  the 
friends  of  Jesus  were,  is  something  which 
enhances  pleasure  and  mitigates  sorrow  in 
every  true  and  noble  heart. 

It  has  long  been  a  tradition  of  the  church 
that  the  scene  of  the  Transfiguration  was 
Mount  Tabor.  But  this  has  now  been  gen- 
erally abandoned,  because  the  summit  of 
that  hiU  was  then  occupied  by  a  fortified 
city,  and  would  not  have  afforded  the  seclu- 
sion which  Jesus  sought.  It  seems  to  be 
agreed  among  scholars  that  the  high  moun- 
tain which  He  ascended  was  one  of  the  long 
ridges  of  Mount  Hermon,  that  grand  snow- 


178  jpetet'fi;  JHifiitalie 

clad  barrier  which  stands  between  the  Holy- 
Land  and  the  country  of  the  Gentiles,  and 
from  whose  slopes  the  pilgrim  gains  the 
most  magnificent  prospect  over  Galilee  and 
Samaria,  even  to  Jerusalem  and  the  hills  be- 
yond it.  The  glories  of  a  mountain  sunset 
are  the  same  to-day  as  they  were  eighteen 
centuries  ago,  and  so  we  can  gather  from 
the  descriptions  of  recent  travellers  a  pic- 
ture of  the  very  scene  which  was  spread 
before  the  eyes  of  Jesus  and  his  disciples, 
as  they  climbed  the  mountain  together. 

A  deep  ruby  flush  came  over  the  land- 
scape, and  warm  purple  shadows  crept  slowly 
down  the  valleys.  The  Sea  of  Galilee  was 
lit  up  with  a  delicate  greenish-yellow  hue 
between  its  dim  mountain  walls.  Then  the 
flush  faded,  and  a  pale  steel-colored  shade 
followed.  A  long  pyramidal  shadow  slid 
down  to  the  foot  of  Hermon  and  crept 
across  the  plain,  seventy  miles  away,  until 
at  last  it  stood  out  as  a  dusky  cone  of 
darkness  against  the  glowing  sky,  —  the 
shadow  of  the  mountain  itself  outlined 
against  the  illimitable  heaven.  The  sun, 
dropping  slowly  through  the  western  va- 
pours, slid  at  length  into  the  sea  and  van- 


JJeter'g  iHifitatie  179 

ished  like  a  spark  of  fire.  One  by  one  the 
stars  shone  out  overhead  in  Eastern  bril- 
liancy, and  the  night  rested  like  a  benedic- 
tion upon  the  world. 

The  disciples  were  weary,  weighed  down 
with  sleep.  They  folded  their  garments 
about  them  and  rested,  as  an  Oriental  peas- 
ant can  always  do,  upon  the  bare  ground, 
under  the  roof  of  heaven.  But  Jesus  prayed, 
—  prayed  for  them,  that  their  faith  might 
receive  some  encouragement,  that  their  eyes 
might  be  opened  like  the  eyes  of  Elisha's 
servant,  to  see  the  invisible  glories  about 
them,  —  prayed  for  himself,  that  He  might 
receive  some  fresh  assurance  of  his  Father's 
love  and  favour  to  strengthen  and  support 
his  heart.  And  then,  —  as  when  a  great 
light  is  kindled  within  a  cathedral,  and  the 
dark  windows  are  transformed  into  fountains 
of  radiance  blazing  out  into  the  night, — 
then,  by  some  ebullition  of  spiritual  splen- 
dour from  within,  the  soul  of  Jesus  sent  out 
a  flood  of  celestial  light  and  He  was  trans- 
figured. The  celestial  form  shone  through 
the  earthly  framework,  so  that  his  face  was 
like  the  sun  and  his  raiment  glistering  white 
as  light.     And  with  Him  appeared  Moses, 


180  T^tttfa  i^ifitafee 

whom  God's  own  hand  had  laid  in  his  secret 
grave  on  Nebo's  lonely  side,  and  Elijah,  who 
had  been  carried  in  the  chariot  of  fire  into 
the  heavenly  world.  These  two  greatest  of 
the  Old  Testament  saints,  the  representatives 
of  the  Law  and  the  Prophets,  appeared  with 
Jesus,  and  "  spake  of  his  decease  which  He 
should  accomphsh  at  Jerusalem," 

Surely  we  cannot  fail  to  see  the  purpose 
of  this  marvellous  event.  It  was  to  uplift 
and  cheer  the  soul  of  Jesus  v/ith  the  thought 
of  the  glory  into  which  He  should  return  by 
the  sorrowful  way  of  the  cross.  It  was  a 
foretaste  of  the  exceeding  great  reward  of 
his  sacrificial  love.  It  was  a  touch  of  the 
joy  of  heaven  to  help  Him  to  bear  the  suffer- 
ings of  earth.  And  it  was  an  assurance  of 
the  sympathy  of  the  celestial  world  with 
his  great  purpose  of  sacrifice  and  death. 
His  disciples  did  not  yet  understand  this 
purpose.  They  could  not  talk  with  Him 
about  it  in  any  such  way  as  to  help  Him. 
They  could  only  protest  against  it,  and  strive 
to  restrain  Him.  But  the  saints  in  glory 
understood  what  He  was  doing.  They  bent 
from  heaven  to  follow  with  loving,  wonder- 
ing eyes  his  steadfast  journeyings  towards 


IJetet'fi  f^ititKiit  181 

the  cross ;  and  when  they  were  permitted  to 
speak  with  Him,  they  talked  of  that  great, 
world-redeeming  death  from  which  his  flesh 
shrank,  but  for  which  his  divine  heart  was 
ready  and  longing. 

There  is  a  strange  suggestiveness  in  this 
conversation.  Who  can  tell  how  much  the 
blessed  dead  know  of  our  lives  here  upon 
earth!  It  may  be  that  they  are  following 
our  paths  even  now  with  wise  and  tender 
eyes,  rejoicing  in  our  victories,  sympathiz- 
ing with  us  in  every  noble  endeavor,  in 
every  pure  resolve,  in  every  unselfish  suffer- 
ing for  love. 

"There  is  no  place  where  earth's  sorrows 
Are  more  felt  than  up  in  heaven." 

It  may  be  that  some  saint  dearer  to  you 
than  any  whose  names  are  written  among  the 
Old  Testament  worthies  —  your  own  faith- 
ful mother,  the  father  who  prayed  with  you 
at  the  family  altar,  the  friend  who  walked 
close  beside  you  in  the  journey  of  life  —  is 
looking  down  upon  you  and  watching  your 
path  to-day.  And  of  this  be  sure :  If  you 
are  following  in  the  footsteps  of  Christ,  if 
you  are  trying  to  do  good,  if  you  are  sa<;rifi- 
cing  yourself  for  others,  if  you  are  treading 


182  IJeter'fif  iHietalie 

the  patli  of  duty  and  devotion,  these  are 
the  things  which  they  understand,  and  for 
which  they  bless  and  love  you.  You  may  be 
misunderstood,  you  may  be  misrepresented 
by  your  friends  on  earth:  but  with  every- 
thing that  is  good,  with  all  noble  suffering, 
there  is  perfect  sympathy  in  heaven. 

The  disciples,  who  had  been  asleep  when 
the  Transfiguration  began,  were  awake  be- 
fore it  ended.  The  radiance  shining  about 
them  opened  their  eyes ;  they  roused  them- 
selves ;  they  saw  their  Master  in  his  glory  ; 
they  heard  the  great  lawgiver  and  the  great 
prophet  talking  with  Him  about  that  death 
which  seemed  so  incredible.  It  must  have 
been  an  overwhelming,  wonderful,  joyous 
vision.  It  was  in  one  sense  a  rebuke  to  their 
own  weakness  and  want  of  sympathy,  and 
yet  this  rebuke  must  have  been  almost  swal- 
lowed up  and  forgotten  in  the  glad  assurance 
that  their  Master  was  indeed  the  Messiah. 
They  must  have  looked  with  unspeakable 
awe,  they  must  have  listened  with  inexpres- 
sible delight.  But  when  the  vision  began  to 
fade,  when  the  forms  of  the  heavenly  visi- 
tants grew  dim  before  their  departure,  Peter 
could  keep  silence  no  longer  ;  he  felt  that  he 


IJeter'fif  piflitaiu  183 

must  speak,  though  he  knew  not  what  to  say. 
He  cried,  "  Master,  it  is  good  for  us  to  be 
here :  and  let  us  make  three  tabernacles  ; 
one  for  thee,  and  one  for  Moses,  and  one 
for  Elias." 

Now  you  will  observe  that  this  saying  of 
Peter's  may  be  divided  into  two  parts.  The 
first  part  is  all  right.  It  is  perfectly  true. 
It  was  good  for  them  to  be  there.  Other- 
wise, Christ  would  not  have  brought  them 
there.  It  was  a  glorious  and  joyful  and 
profitable  hour.  The  memory  of  it  was  to 
remain  with  them  all  through  their  lives  as 
a  source  of  comfort  and  encouragement  and 
strength.  It  was  a  good  thing  for  Peter  and 
James  and  John  that  they  had  been  with 
their  Master  and  seen  his  glory  in  the  holy 
mount.  But  Peter  made  his  mistake  when 
he  said,  "  Let  us  make  three  tabernacles  and 
stay  here  forever." 

I.  It  was  a  mistake,  in  the  first  place,  to 
suppose  that  the  building  of  the  tabernacles 
would  have  done  any  good. 

It  would  not  have  detained  the  fleeting 
vision,  or  perpetuated  the  transitory  de- 
light. Moses  and  Elias  had  to  return  to 
their  places  in  the  heavenly  world.     Jesus 


184  |)ctcr'a  iHidtalie 

had  to  go  down  to  the  valley  to  heal  the  poor 
demoniac,  and  tread  his  appointed  path  to 
the  cross.  Peter  and  James  and  John  had 
to  take  care  of  their  families,  and  be  pre- 
pared for  their  work  as  missionaries  and 
martyrs  of  the  gospel.  The  ecstasy  could 
not  be  prolonged.  The  mountain-top  must 
be  deserted. 

I  have  seen  in  the  little  English  city  of 
Salisbury  the  great  cathedral.  It  was  built 
when  a  flood-tide  of  religious  enthusiasm  was 
sweeping  over  the  world.  Thousands  might 
worship,  thousands  have  worshipped,  within 
that  splendid  fane,  and  its  walls  were  not 
able  to  contain  the  great  flood  of  devotion. 
But  the  tide  has  ebbed ;  the  ecstatic  vision 
has  faded.  The  mighty  cathedral  stands ; 
but  a  handful  of  worshippers  can  scarcely 
keep  a  sleepy  rivulet  of  praise  flowing  in  a 
corner  of  the  building.  No  tabernacle  can 
detain  a  moment  of  religious  enthusiasm ; 
and  if  Peter  and  his  friends  had  built  the 
grandest  cathedral  in  the  world  on  the  ridge 
of  Mount  Hermon,  it  might  have  been  empty 
and  bare  to-day. 

II.  It  was  a  mistake,  in  the  second  place, 
to  suppose  that  the  disciples  had  any  right 


T^tttfti  ilttfitalie  185 

to  remain  on  the  glory-smitten  summit  and 
to  enjoy  tlie  wondrous  vision  at  their  own 
pleasure. 

It  was  a  foretaste  of  heaven,  but  heaven 
belongs  to  God,  and  to  those  whom  He  has 
called  to  be  with  Him.  Peter  wanted  to  stay 
there  before  his  time  had  come.  He  wanted 
to  enjoy  the  rest,  the  blessedness,  the  glory 
of  the  celestial  world  before  he  had  lived 
out  his  life  and  finished  his  work  on  earth. 
He  wanted  to  have  the  crown  without  the 
cross. 

How  natural  this  is  !  How  often  we  have 
felt  like  Peter !  How  often  we  have  longed 
to  escape  from  the  turmoil  and  temptation 
of  this  evil  world  and  dwell  in  some  calm 
and  lofty  region  of  religious  ecstasy,  hold- 
ing unbroken  communion  with  God  !  This 
is  the  feeling  that  has  often  withdrawn  the 
purest  men  and  women  from  their  duties  in 
the  working  world  to  spend  their  lives  in 
sweet  contemplation  amid  the  quietude  of 
convents  and  monasteries.  I  suppose  Bun- 
yan's  Pilgrim  would  gladly  have  stayed  in 
the  House  Beautiful.  I  suppose  he  hated 
to  go  dov/n  from  the  Delectable  Mountains. 
But  he  had  to  go.     The  only  way  to  the 


186  Peter's  JHifitalie 

heavenly  city  led  tbrougli  the  rough  valley 
and  over  the  weary  plain. 

There  is  no  gate  into  heaven  except  at  the 
end  of  the  path  of  duty.  There  is  not  even 
an  honoured  and  peaceful  grave  for  us  until 
we  can  say  with  the  Master,  "  I  have  glorified 
thee  on  the  earth,  I  have  finished  the  work 
thou  gavest  me  to  do." 

III.  It  was  a  mistake,  in  the  third  place,  to 
suppose  that,  because  it  was  good  for  them  to 
be  there  at  one  time,  it  would  have  been  good 
for  them  to  be  there  always. 

Even  if  the  vision  could  have  tarried,  even 
if  God  had  permitted  the  tabernacles  to  be 
built,  it  would  not  have  been  best  for  Peter 
to  abide  on  that  mountain-top.  It  might  have 
made  him  selfish  and  cold  ;  it  might  have  ab- 
sorbed in  the  exercises  of  personal  devotion 
all  the  warmth  of  that  great,  generous  heart 
which  God  designed  to  use  in  making  the 
world  purer  and  better  and  happier.  There 
was  a  deeper,  richer  blessing  provided  for 
Peter  in  the  fellowship  of  suffering  with 
Christ,  and  in  the  reward  of  faithful  labour 
for  the  spread  of  the  Master's  kingdom  of 
righteousness  and  peace  and  joy.  So  it  came 
to  pass  that  there  was  no  answer  to  his  foolish 


Peter's  fSiistBkt  187 

proposal ;  only  a  great  silence,  while  the  lumi- 
nous cloud  swept  lower  to  enclose  the  three 
shining  forms  ;  and  th^n  a  voice  from  the 
cloud,  "  This  is  my  beloved  Son,  hear  Him." 
Suddenly  the  vision  had  vanished  ;  "  they 
saw  no  man  any  more,  save  Jesus  only  with 
themselves  ;  "  and  He  led  them  down  to  help 
a  poor,  sick,  human  child  in  the  valley,  and 
deliver  him  from  the  evil  spirits  that  tor- 
mented him. 

My  friends,  there  are  two  kinds  of  religion 
in  the  world,  —  the  religion  that  is  heavy  with 
self,  and  the  religion  that  is  strong  with  love. 
There  are  some  people  who  mix  opium  with 
their  Christianity.  It  soothes  and  charms 
them ;  it  gives  them  pleasant  dreams  and 
emotions ;  it  lifts  them  above  the  world  in 
joyous  reveries.  They  would  fain  prolong 
them  and  dwell  in  them,  and  enjoy  an  un- 
earned felicity.     Their  favourite  hymn  is,  — 

*'  My  willing  soul  would  stay 
In  such  a  frame  as  this, 
And  sit  and  sing-  herself  away 
To  everlasting  bliss." 

But  no  one  ever  got  to  everlasting  bliss  by 
that  method.  The  world  has  small  need  of 
a  religion  which  consists  solely  or  chiefly  of 


188  |)cter*fi!  illtfitalte 

emotions  and  raptures.  But  the  religion 
that  follows  Jesus  Christ,  alike  when  He 
goes  up  into  the  high  mountain  to  pray  and 
when  He  comes  down  into  the  dark  valley  to 
work ;  the  religion  that  listens  to  Him,  alike 
when  He  tells  us  of  the  peace  and  joy  of  the 
Father's  house  and  when  He  caUs  us  to  feed 
his  lambs  ;  the  religion  that  is  willing  to 
suffer  as  well  as  to  enjoy,  to  labour  as  well  as 
to  triumph  ;  the  religion  that  has  a  soul  to 
worship  God,  and  a  heart  to  love  man,  and 
a  hand  to  help  in  every  good  cause,  — is  pure 
and  undefiled. 

Try  your  religious  emotions,  your  expe- 
riences of  secret  inward  joy  and  peace,  by 
this  test.  If  they  make  you  selfish,  if  you 
seek  to  prolong  them  unduly  or  excite  them 
by  artificial  means,  they  are  false  and  worth- 
less. But  if  they  make  you  kind  and  brave 
and  helpful,  if  you  are  willing  to  come  down 
from  them,  when  you  are  called,  to  do  hard, 
and  distasteful,  and  even  menial,  work  for 
your  Master  and  your  fellow-men,  if  the 
vision  of  faith  has  its  fruits  in  the  life  of 
charity,  then  be  thankful  to  Him  who  has 
revealed  himseK  to  you  more  clearly  in  order 
that  you  may  love  Him  more  dearly,  and 


Peter's  Mi&tztt  189 

follow  Him  more  f aitlifully  in  the  service  of 
humanity. 

Remember  that  in  this  world  every  moun- 
tain-top of  privilege  is  girdled  by  the  vales 
of  lowly  duty. 

Remember  that  the  transfiguration  of  the 
soul  is  but  the  preparation  and  encourage- 
ment for  the  sacrifice  of  the  life. 

Remember  that  we  are  not  to  tarry  in  the 
transitory  radiance  of  Mount  Hermon,  but 
to  press  on  to  the  enduring  glory  of  Mount 
Zion,  and  that  we  can  only  arrive  at  that 
final  and  blessed  resting-place  by  the  way 
of  Mount  Calvary. 

Remember  that  Peter's  mistake  is  cor- 
rected and  explained  by  Peter's  own  words 
in  the  full  experience  of  the  school  of  Christ. 
For  the  Spirit  of  Jesus  was  in  him,  and 
taught  him  what  to  say,  when  he  wrote  at 
the  close  of  his  life :  — 

"  Beloved,  think  it  not  strange  concerning 
the  fiery  trial  which  is  to  try  you,  as  though 
some  strange  thing  happened  unto  you.  But 
rejoice,  inasmuch  as  ye  are  partakers  of 
Christ's  sufferings,  that  when  his  glory  shall 
be  revealed  ye  may  be  glad  also  with  exceed- 
ing joy." 


IX 

GOD  OVER  ALL 

^*  CI)at  pe  maj>  be  tl)e  tbilUten  of  pour  jFatI)cr  tobicl) 
is  tn  I)ea\)en ;  for  |)e  maketf)  bis  gun  to  x\&z  on 
tbc  ebil  anU  on  tlje  pon,  anH  fiicnUotl)  rain  on  i\)t 
mi  anti  on  tl)c  uniugt" 

Matthew  v,  45. 


**  |)e  maiketl}  l^iti  gun  to  rise  on  tbe  etitl  anU  on  tl;e 
soon,  anU  genUetl)  rain  on  tl)e  iuet  ann  on  t\it 

This  is  a  simple  statement  of  a  familiar 
fact.  We  do  not  need  any  convention  of 
scientists  to  assure  us  of  its  trutli,  nor  any 
bulletin  of  the  Weather  Bureau  to  bear  wit- 
ness to  its  accuracy.  A  little  experience  is 
enough  to  convince  us  that  what  we  call  the 
processes  of  Nature  are  thoroughly  impartial. 
They  do  not  discriminate.  They  are  quite 
regardless  of  moral  character. 

All  through  the  summer  that  is  past,  the 
sun  has  been  shining  and  the  rain  has  been 
falling  on  the  fields  without  regard  to  the 
moral  or  religious  differences  of  their  owners. 
There  is  no  peculiar  blessing  on  Protestant 
potatoes.  The  corn  and  pumpkins  in  the 
stingy  farmer's  fields  are  ripening  just  as 
surely  and  just  as  abundantly  as  those  which 
have  been  planted  and  hoed  by  the  most 


194  (3on  cber  9111 


generous  of  men.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to 
sow  the  seed  and  till  the  soil,  and  Nature  will 
do  the  rest  without  asking  what  manner  of 
man  you  are. 

But  is  there  not  something  strange  about 
this  fact  ?  Familiar  as  it  is,  growing  more 
and  more  plain  to  us,  working  itself  more 
and  more  firmly  into  our  experience  the 
longer  we  live,  when  we  stop  to  look  at  it 
and  interrogate  it  more  closely  does  it  not 
puzzle  and  confound  us?  Does  it  not  in- 
troduce a  strange  and,  so  to  speak,  irreli- 
gious element  into  our  conception  of  the 
world  and  human  life  ? 

If  we  regarded  Nature  as  impersonal,  and 
the  universe  as  a  material  mechanism,  we 
should  find  no  difficulty  in  it.  For  then  this 
shining  of  the  sun  and  falling  of  the  rain 
upon  the  evil  and  the  good,  this  procession 
of  the  seasons,  this  interflow  of  forces  and 
influences  which  work  together  in  produc- 
tiveness, this  germinating  of  the  seed  and 
unfolding  of  the  blade  and  forming  of  the 
ear  and  ripening  of  the  full  com  in  the  ear, 
—  the  same  for  every  child  of  man  who  toils 
and  waits,  —  all  this  would  be  to  us  only  the 
proof  and  illustration  of  what  we  should  call 


(Bon  oiier  9111  195 


the  large  indifference  of  Nature.  What 
does  she  care  for  us  or  for  our  doings  ?  She, 
the  vast,  impersonal,  unimpassioned  Being 
who  is  first  our  unfeeling  mother,  and  then, 
when  we  have  conquered  her,  our  obedient 
slave,  —  we  who  are  first  her  offspring,  and 
then,  when  we  are  clever  enough,  her  mas- 
ters, —  what  does  Nature  care  for  us,  or  for 
those  dreams  of  ours  which  we  call  virtue 
and  vice  ?  It  all  goes  on  by  order  and  un- 
conscious law.  Suns  rise  and  set.  Clouds 
gather  and  sweep  by.  Tides  ebb  and  flow. 
The  dews  descend  and  the  grass  springs. 
The  grain-field  changes  from  green  to  gold. 
The  mellow  apples  ripen  and  fall.  The  vine 
feeds  the  deep  purple  of  its  clusters  with  the 
autumn's  blood,  and  the  many-f oliaged  forest 
clothes  itseK  with  a  splendour  of  death. 
Man  comes  into  the  great  world.  He  is 
weak  but  clever.  He  looks  on  Nature  with 
his  intelligent  eyes,  sees  his  advantage  and 
foUows  it  up.  He  makes  the  sun  feed  him 
and  the  animals  work  for  him.  He  wanders 
through  the  world  grasping  its  fruits  as  he 
can  reach  them,  gathering  with  painful  toil 
the  slow  results  of  a  niggard  year,  or  crush- 
ing with  eager  hands  the   rich  grapes  of 


196  (005  oter  ^U 


plenty ;  and  then,  with  the  cry  of  want  or 
song  of  gladness  on  his  lips,  he  is  gone ;  his 
place  is  empty,  his  grave  is  full,  and  suns 
shine  and  rains  fall  upon  his  tombstone  even 
as  they  once  shone  and  fell  upon  him.  It  is 
a  wondrous  pageant,  but  there  is  no  meaning 
in  it,  no  purpose  in  the  play,  no  moral  in  the 
story,  and  we  need  not  try  to  understand  or 
explain  it,  because  there  is  nothing  to  ex- 
plain or  understand,  so  long  as  Nature  is 
imconscious  and  impersonal. 

But  the  moment  we  see  God  behind  the 
face  of  Nature, — the  moment  we  believe  that 
this  vast  and  marvellous  procession  of  sea- 
sons and  causes  and  changes,  this  array  of  in- 
terworking  forces,  is  directed  and  controlled 
by  a  Supreme,  Omniscient,  Holy  Spirit, 
whose  will  is  manifest  in  the  springing  of 
the  siged,  the  ripening  of  the  fruit,  the  fad- 
ing of  the  leaf,  the  shining  of  the  sun,  and 
the  falling  of  the  rain, — this  indifference  be- 
comes incomprehensible  and  impossible.  It 
cannot  be  that  God  is  indifferent.  It  cannot 
be  that  He  cares  not  whether  the  dwellers 
upon  his  earth  are  wicked  or  righteous,  foul 
or  pure,  selfish  or  generous.  It  cannot  be 
that  He  looks  down  with  the  same  feelings 


(^oK  ober  M  197 


upon  all  who  move  below  Him,  and  has  an 
equal  approbation  for  the  toil  of  the  honest 
labourer  and  the  crafty  schemes  of  the  thief. 

You  tell  me  that  Nature  is  indifferent.  I 
say,  Not  if  God  is  behind  Nature. 

You  tell  me  that  it  matters  not  whether 
the  hand  that  guides  the  plow  be  pure  and 
clean,  or  wicked  and  defiled.  Nature  feels 
alike  and  will  do  alike  for  both.  I  say,  Not 
if  God  is  behind  Nature,  not  if  Nature  is  the 
expression  of  his  will.  He  may  do  alike, 
but  He  does  not  feel  alike.  As  well  say  that 
He  who  made  light  and  darlciess  cannot  dis- 
tinguish between  them,  as  that  He  whose 
will  is  the  moral  law  ever  forgets  it,  ignores 
it,  casts  it  aside,  in  any  sphere  or  mode  of 
his  action.  Evermore  He  loves  the  good, 
the  true,  the  noble.  Evermore  He  hates  the 
base,  the  false,  the  evil.  Evermore  iniquity 
is  an  abomination  unto  Him,  and  righteous- 
ness is  his  delight. 

Why,  then,  does  He  not  always  discrimi- 
nate in  all  his  dealings  ?  Why  does  the  earth 
yield  her  increase  as  generously  to  the  mur- 
derer as  to  the  saint?  Why  do  the  glories 
of  summer  spread  themselves  as  freely  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  haggard  wickedness  as  be- 


198  0oJ  ober  M 


fore  tlie  childlike  eyes  of  innocence  and  love  ? 
Why  is  not  the  pathway  of  virtue  always 
crowned  with  fragrance  and  light,  and  the 
way  of  vice  dark  and  dreary  with  tempests 
and  thorns  ?  Why,  since  God  is  wise  and 
just  and  sovereign,  why  does  his  sun  shine 
and  his  rain  fall  equally  upon  the  evil  and 
good? 

There  is  a  meaning,  there  is  a  purpose  in 
it,  as  in  all  his  dealings.  And  what  we  need 
is  the  clear  eye,  the  attentive  mind,  the  en- 
lightened heart,  to  discern  and  understand 
and  accept  it. 

I.  And,  first  of  all,  I  think  it  is  evident 
that  He  would  thus  teach  us  to  believe  in  his 
Fatherhood  in  its  widest  aspect  of  benignity. 
He  would  manifest  his  abounding  kindness 
to  all  the  children  of  men.  In  the  return  of 
winter  and  summer,  seed-time  and  harvest, 
in  the  constant  delight  and  gloiy  of  Nature's 
pageant,  and  the  bounteous  results  of  the 
recurring  seasons.  He  is  opening  his  hand 
and  suppMng  the  wants  of  all  his  creatures. 
The  open  hand,  not  the  blind  eye  nor  the 
unfeeling  heart,  but  the  open  hand,  is  the 
true  symbol  of  God's  dealing  with  mankind 
in  the  natural  world.     And  this  changes  all, 


0ati  ober  3tll  199 


instantly  and  totally.  Instead  of  the  large 
indifference  of  Nature,  we  have  the  great 
beneficence  of  God.  Instead  of  an  uncon- 
scious mechanism,  grinding  out  the  same 
results  and  careless  of  the  hands  into  which 
they  fall,  we  have  the  wise  and  generous 
Father  making  ample  and  equal  provision 
for  all  his  children,  bad  and  good.  Do  we 
not  understand  this?  Do  we  not  see  the 
analogy  and  parallel  in  our  human  life  ? 

In  every  family  there  may  be  children, 
perhaps  not  more  and  less  beloved,  but  surely 
more  and  less  approved.  There  are  some 
that  come  closer  to  the  father's  heart,  obedi- 
ent, generous,  affectionate;  answering  every 
call  upon  their  love ;  rendering  swift,  uncon- 
scious services  of  help  and  comfort;  weaving 
themselves  into  the  very  inmost  life,  and 
growing  dearer  with  every  day  and  year. 
And  there  are  some  that  cannot  or  will  not 
come  so  near ;  cold,  dull,  irresponsive ;  set 
chiefly  upon  the  following  of  their  own  wills 
and  the  pleasing  of  their  own  desires ;  living 
by  their  own  choice  and  disposition  farther 
and  farther  away  from  those  that  gave  them 
birth,  and  sometimes  wilfully  wounding  and 
bruising  the  hearts  to  which  they  ought  to 


200  0otf  ober  ^11 


be  most  closely  bound.  Is  it  possible  that 
the  father  should  feel  alike  towards  both? 
He  cannot  and  does  not.  Even  though  he 
does  not  speak  of  it,  even  though  he  does 
not  show  it,  there  is  a  vast,  a  world-wide 
difference. 

And  yet  they  are  all  his  children.  For 
all  of  them  his  heart  is  tender  and  his  care 
watchful.  And  for  all  of  them  he  will  pro- 
vide with  an  impartial  benevolence.  It  is 
a  point  of  honour  with  him.  He  will  do  the 
best  he  can  for  all.  He  will  defend  their 
helplessness,  and  provide  for  their  needs,  and 
keep  the  sweet  shelter  of  home  around  them 
all,  for  are  they  not  all  his  children  ? 

Are  we  not  also  the  offspring  of  God? 
Yes,  every  one  of  us,  the  lowest  as  well  as 
the  highest.     He  is  the  Father  of  us  all. 

We  do  not  dare  to  think  that  there  is  even 
one  forgotten,  despised,  disowned.  God  will 
not  let  us  think  so.  With  clear,  sweet,  but 
silent  voice.  He  is  assuring  every  child  of 
man  that  the  heavens  above  his  head  are  not 
empty,  but  filled  with  the  presence  of  a  Di- 
vine Father,  and  that  the  earth  beneath  his 
feet  is  not  a  strange  and  desert  place,  but 
the  soil  of  his  own  home,  in  which  paternal 


^ott  ober  m  201 


bounty  will  make  provision  for  his  wants. 
Every  ray  of  sunlight  that  falls  from  heaven, 
every  drop  of  rain  that  waters  the  fruitful 
ground,  is  saying  to  the  heart  of  man,  "  My 
child,  this  a  Father's  impartial  kindness 
sends  to  thee." 

If  men  would  only  hear  it !  Oh  that  the 
deaf  ear  and  the  dull  heart  might  be  touched 
and  opened  to  the  beautiful  speech  of  the 
seasons,  so  that  plenty  might  draw  all  souls 
to  gratitude,  and  beauty  move  all  spirits  to 
worship,  and  every  fair  landscape,  and  every 
overflowing  harvest,  and  every  touch  of  love- 
liness and  grace  upon  the  face  of  the  world, 
might  lift  all  souls  that  live  and  feel  from 
Nature  up  to  Nature's  God !  This  is  what 
He  longs  for.  This  is  what  He  means  when 
He  tells  us,  in  his  impartial  sunshine  and 
rain,  that  He  is  the  Father  of  all  mankind. 

II.  But  I  think  it  is  clear  also  that  God 
uses  this  large  impartiality  in  the  gifts  of 
Nature  to  teach  us  that  this  world  is  not  a 
place  of  judgment,  but  a  place  of  probation, 
in  which  the  good  and  the  evil  are  working 
side  by  side,  not  only  in  the  same  commu- 
nity but  in  the  same  character,  and  not  to  be 
finally  separated  until  they  have  produced 


202  (0oK  ober  SlII 


their  fixed  and  final  results.  Discrimina- 
tions and  judgments  in  regard  to  qualities 
and  actions  are  to  a  certain  extent  necessary. 
We  say  of  self-sacrifice  that  it  is  good.  We 
say  of  lying  that  it  is  evil.  We  caU  some 
men  pure  and  noble.  We  call  others  base 
and  wicked.  But  we  do  not  say  of  any  liv- 
ing, breathing  human  being,  "  That  is  a  lost, 
hopeless  sinner,  with  nothing  but  evil  in 
him." 

We  dare  not  say  it,  for  God  hunself  does 
not  say  it.  The  parable  of  the  wheat  and 
the  tares  applies  not  only  to  the  world  at 
large,  but  also,  and  just  as  truly,  to  the  indi- 
vidual soul.  It  is  only  in  novels  that  the 
villains  are  absolutely  bad,  while  the  heroes 
and  heroines  are  immaculately  good.  In 
real  life,  men  and  women  are  all  somewhat 
mixed,  and  every  soul  is  more  or  less  an 
enigma  to  itself. 

We  look  into  our  own  hearts  and  we  are 
puzzled.  We  cannot  interpret  all  that  is 
within  them.  The  strange  mingling  flow  of 
impulses  and  emotions  and  desires,  the  under- 
current of  half-unconscious  motives  and  the 
after-play  of  repentance  and  regret,  making 
the  colour  of  our  actions  chansfe  with  the 


(Sou  otcr  M  203 


changing  light,  —  all  this  troubles  and  con- 
fuses us.  We  cry  in  all  sincerity,  *'  I  cannot 
understand  myself.  There  is  something  here 
that  I  cannot  judge."  And  from  the  shining 
sun  and  the  falling  rain  comes  the  clear,  kind, 
patient  voice  of  God,  "  Neither  do  I  judge 
thee  yet.  Not  yet  is  thy  final  place  assigned. 
Not  yet  is  thy  trial  ended.  The  days  of  life 
are  still  thine.  The  sun  still  shines  and  the 
rain  still  falls  upon  thy  fields.  Thou  mayest 
be  sunken  deep  in  evil,  but  thou  still  hast 
hope,  for  behold  I  spare  thee  still,  I  still  am 
waiting.     I  do  not  judge  thee  yet." 

"Not  yet,"  "not  yet," — how  solemnly  the 
warning  of  these  words  mingles  with  the 
sweet  assurance  of  a  lingering  hope  for  every 
child  of  man !  How  clearly  the  patient  refusal 
to  judge  now,  reveals  the  certainty  that  God 
will  judge  hereafter !  If  this  world  is  only 
a  place  of  probation,  then  beyond  it  there 
must  be  a  place  of  judgment.  If,  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  this  world's  goods,  the  wicked 
and  the  righteous  fare  alike ;  if  it  sometimes 
seems  that  the  wicked  fare  even  better  in 
their  iniquity,  while  in  the  proudness  of 
their  heart  they  wax  fat, —  then  surely,  in  the 
world  to  come,  the  just  God  must  make  com- 


204  <0otr  o\jer  M 


pensation.  Dishonesty,  and  cruelty,  and 
selfisli  lust  will  receive  their  punishment  at 
the  end.  The  sweet  sun  will  not  shine  for- 
ever, and  the  cool  rain  wiU  not  always  fall 
upon  the  evil-doers.  Nor  shall  those  who 
have  waited  patiently  and  lived  purely  fail 
of  their  reward.  God  cannot  disinherit  them. 
Their  harvest  wiU  surely  come  in  the  world 
of  light. 

How  precious,  then,  how  costly  and  invalu- 
able, is  every  day  and  hour  of  this  mortal 
life  in  which  the  warm  sunlight  and  the 
gentle  rain  assure  us  that  the  upward  way  is 
still  open  to  us!  We  may  still  sow  that 
good  seed  which  shall  bear  fruit  unto  eternal 
life.  But  how  long,  for  you  and  me,  how 
long  shall  this  time  of  hope  endure  ?  The 
night  cometh.     Who  can  tell? 

III.  Once  more,  I  think  that  God  deals 
thus  kindly  with  the  evil  as  well  as  with  the 
good,  in  order  to  make  known  to  all  men  the 
length  and  breadth  of  his  forgiving  love. 
The  length  and  breadth,  not  the  height  and 
depth  of  it,  for  that  could  only  be  expressed 
in  Jesus  Christ,  coming  down  from  heaven 
to  die  for  the  world.  Thus  only  could  the 
fulness  of  God's  love  be  manifest. 


(Son  oijer  ail  205 


But  something  of  its  largeness,  some  shad- 
owing forth  of  its  generosity  and  freedom, 
can  be  discovered  in  the  process  of  Nature. 

"  There 's  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy 
Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea." 

Yes,  and  like  the  spreading  glories  of  the 
sunset,  and  like  the  flowing  of  a  great  river, 
and  like  the  dropping  of  the  gentle  dew  from 
heaven.  These  all  tell  us,  and  tell  us  truly, 
of  the  heart  of  God,  who  is  willing  to  forgive, 
and  longing  to  do  good  unto  all  men.  It  is 
narrated  of  the  great  novelist,  Thackeray, 
that  he  was  once  walking  with  a  friend  at 
evening  on  the  hills  near  Edinburgh.  The 
sun  sank  slowly  to  his  rest,  leaving  a  trail  of 
glory  behind  him,  and  the  solemn  splendours 
of  the  sky  deepened  above  the  crowded  tene- 
ments, the  dark,  foul,  noisome  streets,  the 
pain  and  misery  and  want,  of  the  old  town. 
Thackeray  looked  at  it  long  in  silence,  and 
then,  turning  to  his  companion  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  he  said,  "Calvary." 

Think  of  it,  friends !  God  bestows  all  the 
beauty  and  all  the  loveliness  of  the  world 
upon  sinners  such  as  we  are.  Even  though 
we  have  disobeyed  Him  and  rebelled  against 
Him,  his  hand  still  feeds  us.     Even  though 


206  0oU  oiitx  m 


our  hearts  are  filled  with  vileness,  his  pure- 
eyed  stars  look  down  on  us  in  tenderness 
and  compassion.  Even  though  we  should 
wander  far  away  and  forget  Him,  and  steep 
ourselves  in  wickedness,  his  sun  would  still 
shine,  his  rain  would  still  fall  for  us.  Look 
up,  look  up,  thou  prodigal  child,  lost  to  thy- 
self and  to  thy  home,  sunken  in  vice  and  full 
of  inward  misery,  thou  art  not  lost  to  thy 
Father.  For  lo !  with  every  morning  above 
thine  evil  and  unhappy  head, 

"  God  makes  himself  an  awful  rose  of  dawn." 

And  even  as  his  light  follows  and  caresses 
thee  wherever  thou  mayest  roam,  so  his  love 
is  close  to  thee,  and  his  mercy  waiting  to 
welcome  thee,  if  thou  wilt  but  turn  to  Him. 

But  are  there  not  also  some  practical  les- 
sons which  we,  as  Christians,  may  learn  from 
God's  impartial  and  generous  distribution  of 
the  gifts  of  nature?  Is  there  not  a  sweet 
and  gentle  instruction  for  the  daily  life  to 
be  derived  from  the  sun  which  shines  and 
the  rain  which  falls  alike  upon  the  evil  and 
upon  the  good  ?  Our  Divine  Master  thought 
there  was,  and  used  this  lovely  parable  to 


(Son  ober  au  207 


convey  a  most  precious  lesson  to  the  hearts 
of  his  disciples,  a  lesson  of  charity  and  pa- 
tience and  forgiving  love. 

For  surely  this  proof  of  the  Fatherhood 
of  God  ought  to  deepen  in  our  hearts  the 
sense  of  the  Brotherhood  of  man.  When  we 
see  Him  providing  with  equal  hands  for  all 
men,  causing  the  grass  to  spring  and  the 
flowers  to  bloom  and  the  stars  to  shine  for 
the  whole  world,  treating  even  the  outcast 
and  despised  of  men  with  impartial  kindness, 
surely  we  ought  to  feel  more  profoundly  and 
more  tenderly  the  ties  which  bind  together 
all  those  whom  God  hath  made  of  one  blood 
to  dwell  together  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Our  artificial  life,  the  life  which  seems  in- 
separable from  the  advance  of  civilization 
and  the  growth  of  large  cities,  tends  to 
deepen  and  exaggerate  what  we  call  "  class 
distinctions."  It  keeps  men  far  apart  from 
each  other,  creates  misunderstanding  and 
distrust.  Too  often  it  awakens  evil  passions 
of  pride  and  contempt  among  the  rich,  to  be 
met  by  the  equally  evil  passions  of  envy  and 
hatred  among  the  poor.  When  we  feel  these 
influences  stealing  over  us,  when  we  find 
that  we  are  learning  to  think  of  ourselves 


208  (Bati  obcr  ^11 


and  our  friends  as  the  finest  porcelain  and 
of  the  rest  of  mankind  as  common  cla^'', 
when  we  begin  to  reckon  the  worth  of  man- 
hood and  womanhood  by  the  possession  of 
wealth  and  the  richness  of  attire,  then  it  is 
well  for  us  to 

"  Go  forth  into  the  light  of  things ; 
Let  Nature  be  our  teacher." 

See  how  God's  great  sun  laughs  at  our 
pride,  shining  with  equal  radiance  upon  the 
cottage  and  upon  the  palace,  and  painting 
for  the  eyes  of  all  richer  pictures  than  the 
wealth  of  Croesus  can  buy.  See  how  God's 
sweet  rain  ignores  our  vanity,  falling  as 
gently  and  as  generously  upon  the  poor 
child's  box  of  mignonette  in  the  window  as 
upon  the  costliest  roses  in  the  parterre.  See 
how  all  things  that  God  has  made  tell  us  of 
an  impartial  Father's  love  which  ought  to 
waken  in  our  hearts  a  brother's  kindness  for 
our  fellow-men. 

But  more  than  this,  we  ought  to  learn  from 
the  truth  so  simply  expressed  in  the  text  and 
so  often  illustrated  before  our  eyes.  We 
ought  to  see  in  God's  forbearance  to  judge 
men  a  lesson  of  forbearance  to  us. 

We  are  too  quick :  not  often  too  quick  to 


(0(iK  atcr  ^11  209 


approve,  but  very  often  too  quick  to  con- 
demn. We  think  it  confers  a  sort  of  dignity 
and  virtue  to  say  of  other  men  and  women 
that  they  are  bad.  "We  are  in  haste  to  don 
the  judicial  ermine  and  put  on  the  black 
cap  and  pronounce  sentence.  We  foster  evil 
reports,  and  repeat  gossip,  and  devour  our 
feUows  like  cannibals.  Who  art  thou  that 
judgest  another?  Remember  Christ's  words 
to  the  scribes  and  Pharisees.  Remember  his 
words  to  his  own  disciples,  "  Judge  not,  that 
ye  be  not  judged."  How  can  we  read  the 
hidden  motives,  how  can  we  know  the  deep 
repentance  and  regret  that  enter  into  the 
lives  about  us?  Beware  of  censoriousness. 
This  world  of  impartial  sunlight  and  equal 
falling  rain  is  not  the  place  of  judgment. 
And,  thank  God,  you  and  I  are  not,  either 
here  or  hereafter,  the  final  judges.  My  heart 
would  shrink  in  speechless  terror  from  decid- 
ing the  destiny  of  a  single  human  soul.  That 
belongs  to  God ;  and  to  God  not  now,  but 
when  the  shadows  of  time  have  been  lost  in 
the  light  of  eternity. 

Finally,  my  friends,  when  we  see  God  for- 
giving all  men  who  have  sinned  against  Him, 
sparing  them  in  his  mercy,  and  showering 


210  (0ctJ  c^cr  m 


his  bounty  alike  upon  tlie  evil  and  the  good, 
let  us  take  the  gracious  lesson  of  forgiveness 
to  our  hearts.  Why  should  we  hate  like 
Satan  when  we  may  forgive  like  God? 
Why  should  we  cherish  malice,  envy,  and 
all  uncharitableness  in  our  breasts  ?  I  know 
that  some  people  use  us  despitefuUy  and 
show  themselves  our  enemies,  but  why  should 
we  fill  our  hearts  with  their  bitterness  and 
inflame  our  wounds  with  their  poison  ?  This 
world  is  too  sweet  and  fair  to  darken  it  with 
the  clouds  of  anger.  This  life  is  too  short 
and  precious  to  waste  it  in  bearing  that 
heaviest  of  all  burdens,  a  grudge.  Forgive 
and  forget  if  you  can  ;  hut  forgive  anyway; 
and  pray  heartily  and  kindly  for  all  men,  for 
thus  only  shall  we  be  the  children  of  our 
Father  who  maketh  his  sun  to  rise  on  the 
evil  and  on  the  good,  and  sendeth  rain  on 
the  just  and  on  the  unjust. 


X 

THE   HORIZON 

**2ri)e  secret  tMnffC  htUm^  unto  tl)e  lorH  our 
(3oti :  hut  tfjose  ii}in%6  tDl)ic5  are  retiealeB  ije= 
lonff  unto  us  anU  to  our  c|)iltiren  foreijer,  tljat 
tat  map  Ho  all  tl)e  toorHs  of  this  lato/' 

Deuteronomy  xxix.  29. 


"Clbc  cetret  tW%fi  belong  ttnto  Ht  larU  ottr 
(0oU :  but  tboBe  tbinsa  to|)it]^  are  retiealetr  ht- 
Ions  unto  ufi  anti  tn  our  tl)illir£n  farcber,  tjbat 
toe  map  Ho  all  tl)e  toorus  of  t^ia  lato/' 

There  is  no  landscape  whicli  is  not 
bounded  by  the  horizon.  This  fact  is  the 
symbol  of  a  profound  truth.  It  reminds 
us  that  our  powers  are  finite  and  limited. 
However  high  we  may  climb  to  win  a  wider 
outlook,  our  vision  will  touch  its  confines 
and  the  known  will  be  ringed  about  by  the 
unknown.  This  is  the  Doctrine  of  the  Hori- 
zon. 

Now  the  text  applies  this  truth  to  religion. 
It  speaks  of  things  revealed  and  declares 
that  they  belong  to  us.  And  in  speaking 
thus  it  appeals  to  our  religious  instinct,  our 
spiritual  common  -  sense.  For  a  religion 
which  contained  no  real  disclosure  of  the 
divine  to  our  minds  and  hearts  would  have 
no  meanins:  and  therefore  no  value.     The 


214  C?r[)e  J)on^on 


horizon  must  include  something.  It  is  idle 
to  talk  of  the  religious  sentiments  of  awe, 
reverence,  humility,  and  gratitude  as  if  they 
could  exist  without  any  known  motive  or 
object.  That  of  which  we  are,  and  must 
remain,  altogether  ignorant  can  never  in- 
fluence our  belief,  our  worship,  or  our  con- 
duct. 

A  religion  all  mystery  is  a  light  all  dark- 
ness. It  does  not  help  us  in  the  least  when 
a  philosopher  spells  the  Unlaiowable  with  a 
capital  U  and  advises  us  to  worship  It.  For 
when  we  ask  him  what  to  believe  about  It, 
he  can  only  answer,  "  Believe  that  you  can 
never  know  what  It  is  ;  "  and  when  we  ask 
him  what  to  say  to  It,  he  can  only  answer 
"  Say  nothing  ;  "  and  when  we  ask  him  what 
It  would  have  us  do  for  Its  glory,  he  can 
only  answer,  "  You  must  find  out  for  yourseK, 
for  It  will  never  tell  you."  A  religion  of 
this  kind,  a  religion  of  the  Unknowable,  is  a 
large  name  for  something  which  has  no  ex- 
istence :  it  is  an  idle  word  dancing  recklessly 
on  the  brink  of  nonsense.  Certainly  it  is 
not  the  religion  of  the  Bible  which  discloses 
a  God  who  has  made  himself  known  unto 
men ;  nor  of  Paul,  who  said,  "  Whom  there- 


Cl)e  |)ort^ott  215 


fore  ye  ignorantly  worship,  Him  declare  we 
unto  you ; "  nor  of  Christ,  who  said  to  the 
Samaritans,  "  Ye  worship  ye  know  not  what : 
we  know  what  we  worship." 

But  the  text  also  speaks  of  secret  things, 
and  affirms  that  they  belong  unto  the  Lord 
our  God.  This  also  is  a  reasonable  voice 
and  one  that  carries  conviction  to  our  spirit. 
For  certainly  a  religion  that  professed  to 
reveal  and  explain  ever^^thing,  and  to  make 
the  moral  order  of  the  universe  and  the 
nature  and  plans  of  God  as  plain  to  our  com- 
prehension as  a  map  of  the  United  States,  — 
a  religion  that  contained  no  mystery,  would 
be  quite  as  incredible  as  a  religion  that 
was  all  mystery.  We  find  insoluble  prob- 
lems and  undiscoverable  secrets  in  nature, 
and  we  expect  to  find  them  in  theology. 
There  is  something  hidden  even  in  the  least 
and  lowest  form  of  life,  why  not  also  in  the 
highest  and  greatest?  Do  you  remember 
Tennyson's  poem  of  "  The  Flower  "  ? 

**  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 
I  hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 
Little  flower  —  but  if  I  could  understand 
What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is." 


216  Clie  |)ori^on 


But  that  is  precisely  what  we  cannot 
attain :  a  perfect  comprehension,  a  complete 
knowledge,  a  vision  without  a  horizon,  even 
in  regard  to  the  smallest  things.  And  if  we 
do  not  look  for  this  in  the  realm  of  the 
finite,  surely  we  cannot  dream  of  reaching  it 
in  the  realm  of  the  Infinite.  Anything  that 
a  telescope  could  discover  among  the  stars, 
anything  that  logic  could  define  and  explain 
and  fit  into  an  exact  philosophical  system, 
would  not  be  God.  For  it  belongs  to  his 
very  essence  that  He  transcends  our  thought, 
and  that  his  judgments  are  unsearchable  and 
his  ways  past  finding  out.  We  do  not  know 
anything  about  God  unless  we  know  that 
we  cannot  know  Him  perfectly. 

Modest  ignorance  is  a  necessary  element 
of  true  theology.  Bishop  Butler  says,  "  The 
monarchy  of  the  Universe  is  a  dominion  un- 
limited in  extent  and  everlasting  in  duration : 
the  general  system  of  it  must  therefore  be 
quite  beyond  our  comprehension."  Eich- 
ard  Hooker  says,  "  We  know  not  God  as 
He  is,  neither  can  know  Him.  His  glory 
is  inexplicable,  his  greatness  above  our  ca- 
pacity and  reach."  And  this  is  but  an  echo 
of  the  majestic  language  of  the  Bible :  ''  It 


QL\it  ^ort^nn  217 


is  as  high  as  heaven ;  what  canst  thou  do  ? 
deeper  than  hell  ;  what  canst  thou  know? 
The  measure  thereof  is  longer  than  the  earth 
and  broader  than  the  sea."  "  For  we  know 
in  part  and  we  prophesy  in  part.  But  when 
that  which  is  perfect  is  come,  then  that  which 
is  in  part  shall  be  done  away." 

The  partial  knowledge  of  divine  things, 
the  line  which  divides  God's  secrets  from 
his  revelations,  the  necessary  horizon  of  re- 
ligious thought,  —  this  is  the  subject  to 
which  I  would  call  your  attention.  Let  us 
observe  the  fact  that  it  exists,  and  the  dan- 
gers of  trying  to  go  beyond  it,  and  the  ad- 
vantages of  keeping  within  it. 

I.  It  is  a  simple  fact  that  we  cannot  know 
all  about  God.  Natural  theology,  of  course, 
is  limited.  Revealed  theology  widens  the 
boundaries  of  our  knowledge,  but  does  not 
abolish  them.  The  Bible  does  not  profess 
to  make  men  omniscient,  but  simply  to  tell 
them  enough  to  make  them  happy  and  good, 
if  they  will  believe  it  and  live  up  to  it.  It 
does  indeed  lift  man  above  the  level  of  his 
natural  ignorance  ;  but  even  as  one  who  has 
gained  a  wider  view  of  the  world  by  ascend- 
ing a  lofty  mountain  still  finds  his  sight  cir- 


218  C|)e  |)on^on 


cumscribed  by  a  new  borizon,  so  those  wbo 
receive  tbe  revelations  wbich  are  contained 
in  Holy  Scripture  still  discover  a  verge  beyond 
which  their  thought  cannot  pass,  and  find 
themselves  shut  in  by  the  secret  things 
which  belong  unto  God.  Indeed,  this  fact 
of  limitation  is  itself  one  of  the  things  re- 
vealed. Not  to  the  sea  alone,  but  also  to 
the  questioning  intellect  of  man  does  God 
say,  "  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  but  no  fur- 
ther: and  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be 
stayed." 

Take  your  Bible,  and  see  how  far  it  leads 
you  on,  and  how  firmly  it  holds  you  back  ; 
how  much  it  discloses,  and  how  much  it 
hides.  Everywhere  you  can  see  the  horizon 
line  running  sharply  around  the  things  re- 
vealed and  hiding  the  things  secret. 

In  regard  to  God  himself,  it  seems  to  me 
that  his  character  is  revealed  and  his  essence 
is  secret.  His  moral  attributes  are  made 
known  to  us  so  that  we  cannot  mistake  them. 
He  is  just  and  holy,  merciful  and  compas- 
sionate, bountiful  and  loving,  and  He  dis- 
closes these  qualities  so  fully  in  his  self-reve- 
lation in  Jesus  Christ  that  they  become  clear 
and  distinct  and  indubitable  to  us  ;  they  be- 


C^e  |)ori^ntt  219 


long  to  us  and  to  our  children  forever.  We 
know  Him  as  the  Father  of  our  spirits,  for 
Jesus  Christ  says,  "  He  that  hath  seen  me 
hath  seen  the  Father."  But  his  metaphysi- 
cal attributes,  the  ground  and  mode  and  form 
of  his  existence,  are  behind  the  veil.  Om- 
niscience, Omnipresence,  Omnipotence,  — 
when  we  speak  these  words  we  do  not  define 
God,  we  simply  name  the  limits  of  our 
thought  about  Him.  They  are  lines  which 
run  out  into  infinity ;  and  when  we  try  to 
follow  them  with  our  logic,  they  lead  us 
into  a  region  where  argiunent  is  vain  and 
definition  is  absurd.  Do  you  remember  what 
Moses  saw  in  the  mount?  He  said  unto 
the  Lord,  "I  beseech  thee  show  me  thy 
glory."  But  God  answered,  "  I  will  make 
all  my  goodness  pass  before  thee."  Here 
is  the  boundary-line  of  knowledge :  God's 
goodness  is  revealed;  but  his  glory  is  be- 
yond the  horizon. 

And  does  not  the  same  line  run  between 
the  purposes  of  God  which  He  has  declared 
in  Jesus  Christ  and  the  means  of  executing 
those  purposes?  We  believe  that  God  is 
the  Ruler  of  the  universe,  and  that  He  in- 
tends that  his  will  shall  be  done  on  earth 


220  m)t  |)0rt^on 


even  as  it  is  done  in  heaven.  It  is  Hs  will  to 
punish  the  wicked  and  to  reward  the  right- 
eous; to  judge  the  obstinate  and  to  have 
mercy  upon  the  penitent ;  to  vanquish  the 
evil  and  to  establish  the  good;  to  destroy 
death  and  him  that  hath  the  power  of  death, 
that  is,  the  devil,  and  in  the  fulness  of  time 
to  gather  together  in  one  all  things  in  Clu-ist, 
both  which  are  in  heaven  and  which  are  on 
earth.  Nothing  could  be  more  certain  to 
those  who  believe  in  God  than  this  mighty 
purpose.  Bat  nothing  could  be  more  inscru- 
table than  the  manner  of  its  accomplishment. 
We  know  that  God  is  sovereign.  We  know 
also  that  man  is  free,  for  the  whole  gospel  is 
an  appeal  to  his  power  of  choice ;  the  offer 
of  pardon  and  life  would  be  an  absurdity,  a 
deception,  a  moral  mockery  if  he  were  not 
able  to  receive  or  to  reject  it  at  will.  Both 
truths  are  revealed,  both  are  sure  and  pre- 
cious. But  they  come  together  in  a  line 
which  is  the  absolute  boundary  of  our  vision, 
even  as  the  ocean  and  the  sky  meet,  but  do 
not  mingle,  at  the  edge  of  the  world.  That 
is  the  horizon.  Beyond  that  we  cannot  see. 
What  is  all  this  reasoning  and  syllogizing 
about  an  eternal  decree  which  determines 


HLht  ^ovi^on  221 


the  fate  of  every  soul,  this  logical  analysis  of 
the  relations  between  the  human  spirit  which 
must  be  passive  and  the  Divine  Spirit  which 
is  given  unto  them  who  are  appointed  imto 
life  and  not  unto  them  who  are  appointed 
unto  death,  —  what  is  it  all  but  a  vain  effort 
to  go  beyond  the  horizon  ? 

Here  is  the  sea  on  which  you  float,  the 
sea  of  human  life,  with  its  shifting  tides 
and  currents.  Yonder  is  the  sky  that  bends 
above  you,  the  pure  and  sovereign  will  of 
God.  Out  of  that  unsearchable  heaven 
comes  the  breath  of  the  Spirit,  like  "  the 
wind  that  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh  and  whither 
it  goeth."  If  you  will  spread  your  sail  to 
catch  that  breath  of  life,  if  you  will  lay  your 
course  and  keep  your  rudder  true,  you  will 
be  carried  onward  in  peace  and  safety  to 
your  desired  haven.  Nay,  more :  if  there 
seems  to  be  no  breeze  stirring  near  you,  if 
you  feel  that  you  are  lying  idle  and  help- 
less in  a  dead  calm,  drifting  upon  the  dark 
currents  which  may  bear  you  to  destruction, 
you  have  only  to  ask  for  the  saving  breath 
and  it  will  come.  For  earthly  parents  are 
not  more  willing  to  give  good  gifts  unto  their 


222  C^e  porMon 


children  than  your  Heavenly  Father  to  give 
his  Spirit  unto  them  that  ask  Him.  Ask, 
then,  ask  for  what  you  can  surely  have,  and 
sail,  and  steer,  and  leave  the  secret  things  to 
God. 

Again,  we  may  see  the  line  of  division 
running  between  the  laws  of  God  which  are 
revealed  and  the  final  judgment  of  God 
which  is  secret.  He  has  shown  us  what  He 
would  have  us  do.  "  What  doth  the  Lord 
require  of  thee,  but  to  do  justly,  and  to  love 
mercy,  and  to  walk  humbly  with  thy  God  ?  " 
He  has  declared  that  He  will  reward  every 
man  according  to  his  works.  He  has  made 
known  the  riches  of  his  grace,  his  willing- 
ness to  forgive  the  penitent,  and  to  help  the 
fallen,  in  Jesus  Christ ;  and  by  the  same  lips 
He  has  made  known  his  indignation  against 
those  who  will  not  repent,  nor  trust  in  his 
mercy,  nor  show  to  others  that  love  which 
God  has  shown  to  them.  Nothing  could  be 
more  clear  and  positive  than  the  revelation  of 
duty  which  God  makes  to  each  one  of  us. 
We  must  forsake  our  sins  and  deny  our- 
selves, and  take  up  our  cross  and  follow 
Christ  if  we  would  be  saved. 

But  beyond  that  is  the  region  of  secrets. 


CI)c  ^ori^on  223 


When  we  try  to  peer  into  it  and  explore  it 
with  our  little  lamps  of  reason,  when  we  ask 
how  God  will  deal  with  the  heathen,  who 
have  not  had  our  privileges  and  opportuni- 
ties, when  we  inquire  what  is  to  become  of 
this  man  or  that  man  in  the  eternal  future, 
we  are  simply  going  beyond  the  horizon. 
The  very  attempt  to  pronounce  final  judg- 
ment on  our  fellow-creatures  implies  what 
Butler  has  well  called  "  the  infinitely  absurd 
supposition  that  we  know  the  whole  of  the 
case."  One  thing  is  certain,  God  will  never 
do  injustice  to  a  single  soul,  "  but  in  every 
nation  he  that  feareth  Him  and  worketh 
righteousness  is  accepted  with  Him."  The 
rest  we  may  leave  in  silence  with  God ;  for 
judgment  is  his  province,  and  there  we  may 
not  intrude. 

"  Let  not  this  weak  unknowing  liand 
Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 
And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 
On  each  I  judge  thy  foe. 

"  If  I  am  right,  thy  grace  impart 
Still  in  the  right  to  stay : 
If  I  am  wrong,  oh,  teach  my  heart 
To  find  that  better  way." 

II.  Let  US  think  now  of  some  of  the  evils 


224  Cbe  tampan 


and  dangers  of  going  beyond  tlie  horizon  in 
theology. 

First  of  all,  it  is  a  dangerous  thing  be- 
cause it  is  likely  to  lead  to  mistakes  and 
errors.  When  a  man  sets  out  to  be  wise 
above  what  is  written,  he  is  in  a  fair  way  to 
arrive  at  folly ;  and  when  he  endeavours  to 
deal  with  infinite  quantities  by  a  finite  logic 
his  conclusions  are  apt  to  be  absurd.  It  is 
better  to  know  nothing  about  a  subject,  than 
to  know  something  about  it  which  is  not  so. 
It  is  wiser  to  stand  in  silent  awe  before  the 
secret  things  which  belong  to  God,  than  it  is 
to  adventure  rashly  among  them  and  dis- 
cover truths  which  do  not  exist. 

The  evil  genius  of  religious  thought  is 
insatiable  curiosity,  and  her  handmaid  is 
necessary  deduction,  and  her  kingdom  is  a 
kingdom  of  logical  consistency  and  moral 
confusion.  The  plague  of  Christendom  has 
been  the  passion  of  theology  to  define  what 
God  has  not  defined,  and  to  discover  what 
He  has  kept  secret. 

Take  a  few  examples  of  this  kind  of  work. 
The  sacrifice  of  Christ  is  revealed  to  us  in 
Scripture  as  a  redemption  of  sinners.  The 
curious  theologizer,  fixing  upon  this  word  re- 


^\)Z  |)an|on  225 


demption,  follows  it  out  beyond  the  horizon. 
A  redemption  is  a  price  paid  for  something. 
If  God  has  paid  a  price  for  the  soul  of  man, 
it  must  have  belonged  to  somebody  else. 
The  only  other  conceivable  owner  is  Satan. 
Therefore,  the  death  of  Christ  was  a  ransom 
paid  to  the  devil  for  the  soul  of  man.  This 
amazing  discovery  of  logic  among  the  secret 
things  was  taught  in  the  church  for  centu- 
ries. 

Again,  omniscience  is  declared  to  be  one 
of  the  divine  attributes.  It  means  simply 
that  God's  wisdom  is  perfect,  and  therefore 
beyond  our  comprehension.  But  the  inquisi- 
tive explorer  takes  this  word  as  a  raft  and 
pushes  out  into  the  unknown.  Omniscience, 
according  to  his  definition,  means  that  God 
knows  everything  from  all  eternity.  If  He 
foreknows  everything,  everything  must  be 
foreordained.  If  everything  is  foreordained, 
then  the  sin  and  death  of  every  wicked  man 
must  be  predetermined.  If  these  things  are 
predetermined,  then  God  must  have  willed 
that  they  should  come  to  pass;  and  if  He 
has  wiUed  it,  He  must  have  decreed  it. 
Therefore,  "  by  the  decree  of  God,  for  the 
manifestation  of  his  glory,  some  men  and 


226  €\)t  J)cvi|on 


angels  are  foreordained  unto  everlasting 
death,  and  these  men  and  angels  are  par- 
ticularly and  unchangeably  designed,  and 
their  number  is  so  certain  and  definite  that 
it  can  neither  be  increased  or  diminished." 
Thus  the  explorer  of  Omniscience  reports 
his  discovery  ;  and  when  we  turn  from  his 
report  to  the  Bible,  which  tells  us  of  "  God, 
who  is  not  willing  that  any  should  perish, 
but  that  all  should  come  to  repentance,'* 
we  feel  that  the  explorer  has  gone  a  long 
way  beyond  the  horizon  and  has  discovered 
something  which  is  probably  not  true. 

Again,  the  Bible  reveals  the  fact  of  the 
second  coming  of  Christ,  but  it  declares  at 
the  same  time  that  the  day  and  the  hour  of 
his  advent  are  hidden  from  all  men.  Now 
here  is  a  horizon  distinctly  and  divinely  es- 
tablished, and  yet  good  people  have  not  been 
able  to  restrain  their  curiosity  from  trying 
to  pass  over  it.  They  have  counted  the  num- 
bers in  the  book  of  Daniel,  and  discovered 
that  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  the  man  of  sin. 
They  have  investigated  the  horns  of  the  va- 
rious allegorical  creatures  and  the  clothing 
of  the  scarlet  woman  in  the  book  of  the  Rev- 
elation, and  identified  the  Pope  as  the  anti- 


Gri)c  ^ort^on  227 


christ.  They  have  fixed  with  more  or  less 
particularity  the  date  of  the  millennium,  and 
have  assembled  in  white  robes  to  wait  for  its 
arrival  —  but  it  failed  to  arrive,  because  it 
is  still  beyond  the  horizon. 

Of  all  the  activities  in  which  men  have 
employed  their  intellect,  there  is  none  which 
has  produced  such  a  large  amount  of  incor- 
rect information  and  erroneous  discovery,  as 
this  habit  of  pushing  beyond  the  horizon 
into  the  secrets  of  God. 

Moreover,  it  is  an  undesirable  habit  be- 
cause it  leads  to  bitter  strife  and  controversy. 
There  is  no  opinion  for  which  men  are  so 
ready  to  fight  as  one  in  regard  to  which 
there  is  room  for  considerable  uncertainty. 
Almost  all  of  the  conflicts  in  Christian 
thought  —  and  many  of  the  most  bloody 
schisms  in  the  Christian  Church  —  have 
been  in  the  region  of  speculation  rather 
than  in  the  region  of  faith.  In  regard  to 
the  great  essential  truths  which  are  clearly 
revealed  there  has  been  substantial  unity 
from  the  beginning.  But  when  men  have 
begun  to  make  their  inferences  and  deduc- 
tions from  these  truths,  when  they  have 
tried  to  run  them  out  beyond  the  horizon, 


228  Cbe  pm^m 


and  to  map  out  the  universe  according  to  a 
fixed  system,  then  divisions  have  appeared, 
and  anathemas  and  counter-anathemas  have 
filled  the  air,  and  the  music  of  worship  has 
been  broken  by  the  clash  of  swords.  "  What 
are  these  people  quarrelling  about?"  asks 
the  plain  man.  They  are  quarrelling,  my 
beloved  brother,  for  the  most  part  about  the 
thing's  that  none  of  them  can  understand. 
Being  unwilling  to  let  God  have  any  secrets, 
they  are  unable  to  let  men  have  any  peace. 
This  is  one  of  the  results  of  going  beyond 
the  horizon. 

But  even  if  this  result  does  not  follow, 
even  if  speculation  upon  the  secret  things  is 
carried  on  peaceably  and  charitably,  it  is  at 
best  an  idle  habit  and  therefore  undesirable. 
Vast  quantities  of  time  have  been  wasted  in 
pursuing  investigations  into  the  nature  and 
the  plans  of  God  which  cannot  possibly  con- 
cern us,  or  have  any  appreciable  influence 
upon  our  virtue  or  our  happiness.  I  have 
heard  lately  of  an  ecclesiastical  assembly 
which  spent  many  hours  in  discussing  what 
God  ought  to  do  with  idiots  in  the  future  life. 
Not  content  with  the  question  in  its  gen- 
eral aspect,  they  specified  the  case  of  a  man 


C^e  ^ori^oii  229 


who  had  been  in  the  possession  of  his  reason 
until  the  age  of  twenty-five,  and  then,  by  acci- 
dent or  disease,  had  been  reduced  to  idiocy. 
This  problem  they  debated  as  gravely  and 
as  exhaustingly  as  if  it  had  been  committed 
to  them  for  decision.  I  do  not  know  what 
conclusion  they  arrived  at,  nor  do  I  think 
that  it  is  of  any  particular  consequence 
whether  they  arrived  at  any  conclusion. 
The  most  desirable  thing  was  that  they 
should  come  to  an  end. 

The  trouble  with  most  of  our  Confessions 
of  Faith  and  Articles  of  Eeligion  is  that  they 
are  too  long.  They  contain  the  system  of 
doctrine  taught  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  ;  but 
they  contain  also  a  great  deal  more.  And 
these  additions,  inferences,  and  deductions 
have  always  been  the  most  costly  to  attain, 
the  most  perilous  to  defend,  the  most  diffi- 
cult to  believe,  and  the  least  j)rofitable  to 
apply. 

The  first  lesson  to  be  learned  by  one  who 
would  think  wisely  or  speak  truly  of  reli- 
gious questions  is  to  say,  in  regard  to  the 
secret  things,  "  I  do  not  know,  and  I  shall 
not  try  to  guess."  The  advice  which  Mil- 
ton puts  into  the  speech  of  the  affable  arch- 


230  CI)e  ^ori^on 


angel  Raphael  is  prudent,  and  as  good  for 
us  as  it  was  for  Adam. 

"  Solicit  not  thy  thoughts  with  matters  hid  ; 
Leave  them  to  God  above,  him  serve  and  fear : 
Of  other  creatures,  as  hun  pleases  best, 
Wherever  placed,  let  him  dispose :  joy  thou 
In  what  he  gives  to  thee,  this  paradise. 
And  thy  fair  Eve  ;   Heaven  is  for  thee  too  high 
To  know  what  passes  tliere.     Be  lowly  wise  ; 
Think  only  what  concerns  thee  and  thy  being ; 
Contented  that  thus  far  hath  been  revealed, 
Not  of  earth  only,  but  of  highest  Heaven." 

III.  Think  now  for  a  moment  of  the  great 
benefits  which  will  come  to  us  from  follow- 
ing this  advice.  Think  of  the  large  bless- 
ings of  a  small  theology.  Think  of  the 
advantages  of  being  confined  to,  and  con- 
tented with,  the  things  that  are  revealed, 
without  trying  to  go  beyond  the  horizon. 

It  will  deliver  us  from  perplexing  thoughts 
which  interrupt  the  sweetness  of  life.  It 
will  leave  us  free  to  enjoy  the  good  gifts 
of  God.  Above  all,  it  will  enable  us  to 
devote  our  best  thought,  our  deepest  ener- 
gy, our  strongest  faith  to  the  apprehension 
and  application  of  those  great,  simple,  vital 
truths  which  God  has  made  known  for  the 
salvation  of  our  souls  and  the  uplifting  of 


(Zri)e  ^ori^on  231 


the  world  into  the  heavenly  life.  That  is 
what  we  need,  and  that  is  what  the  text 
means,  —  apprehension  and  application  of 
the  great  simple  truths  of  religion  within 
the  horizon. 

The  things  that  are  revealed  belong  unto 
us  and  to  our  children  forever,  —  is  not 
that  what  our  hearts  desire  and  crave  ?  A 
religion  which  shall  really  belong  to  us,  be  a 
part  of  us,  enter  into  us,  abide  with  us,  and 
not  with  us  only,  but  with  our  children,  for- 
ever. Not  many  doctrines,  but  solid.  It 
need  not  be  very  wide,  but  it  must  be  very 
deep.  It  must  go  down  to  the  bottom  of 
our  hearts  and  dwell  there  as  a  living  cer- 
tainty. To  be  sure  of  God,  most  wise,  most 
mighty,  most  holy,  most  loving,  our  Father 
in  heaven  and  on  earth  ;  to  be  sure  of  Christ, 
divine  and  human,  our  Brother  and  our 
Master,  the  pattern  of  excellence  and  the 
Redeemer  from  sin,  the  Saviour  of  all  who 
trust  in  Him ;  to  be  sure  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
the  Comforter,  the  Guide,  the  Purifier, 
given  to  all  who  ask  for  Him;  to  be  sure 
of  immortality,  an  endless  life  in  which  no- 
thing can  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God,  — 
my  friends,  let  us  concentrate  our  faith  upon 


232  Clic  t)0vi^ott 


these  tilings.  If  we  can  get  hold  of  these 
profound  realities,  if  we  can  gather  about 
them  all  the  forces  of  reason  and  conscience 
and  experience  and  testimony  to  establish 
them  forever,  if  we  can  rest  upon  them 
firmly  and  steadfastly,  feeling  that  they  are 
ours  because  they  are  revealed,  we  shall  be 
satisfied.  For  our  great  need  is  not  to  know 
more  about  religion,  but  to  be  more  sure 
of  what  we  know. 

There  is  but  one  way  to  attain  this.  We 
must  live  up  to  what  we  know.  Our  text 
concludes  by  saying  "that  we  may  do  all 
the  words  of  this  law."  Goodness  is  the  pur- 
pose of  religion,  and  its  best  proof.  Con- 
duct is  the  end  of  faith,  and  its  strongest 
support.  God  has  revealed  himself  in  Christ 
in  order  that  we  may  love  Him  and  live 
with  Him  and  be  like  Him.  If  we  will  do 
this  we  shall  be  sure  of  Him,  and  help  other 
men  to  be  sure  of  Him  too.  The  best  evi- 
dences of  religion  are  holy  and  kind  and 
useful  and  godly  lives,  really  moulded  and 
controlled  by  the  divine  Christ.  A  short 
creed  well  believed  and  honestly  applied  is 
what  we  need.  The  world  waits,  and  we 
must  pray  and  labour,  not  for  a  more  com- 


QTlie  l^oriion  233 


plete  and  logical  Theology,  but  for  a  more 
real  and  true  and  living  Christianity. 

The  best  thing  that  we  can  do  to  help  the 
world  to  believe  in  a  Divine  Revelation  is 
simply  this  :  Trust  in  Jesus  Christ,  love  our 
fellow-men,  and  follow  Him  in  the  path  of 
daily  duty. 


XI 

CHRIST   FUNDAMENTAL 

"  JFot  0t|er  faunliation  can  no  man  lap  tlian 
tUt  t£(  Iatt[>  tulittl)  16  ^em&  €\)vi6t" 

I  Corinthians  iii.  ii- 


**  jFor  otlb^r  fotttiUation  can  no  man  lap  tjian 
t|)at  ifi  Iain,  )sil}ith  is  STefittfii  Climt/' 

All  schools  of  architecture  agree  in  one 
point.  However  they  may  differ  in  theories 
of  construction  or  schemes  of  ornamentation, 
they  are  at  one  in  the  doctrine  that  the  most 
important  part  of  every  building,  home  or 
palace,  temple  or  fortress,  is  the  foundation. 

Now  the  apostle  Paul  translates  this  truth 
into  the  terms  of  religion.  He  declares  that 
the  essential  thing  is  to  have  a  sure  foun- 
dation for  faith,  and  character,  and  life. 
He  declares  that  such  a  foundation  has  been 
laid  in  Jesus  Christ.  And  he  adds  that 
there  is  nothing  in  the  universe  to  take  the 
place  of  that  foundation  as  a  basis  for  all 
that  is  permanent  and  precious  in  existence. 

The  apostle  has  been  dead  eighteen  hun- 
dred years,  but  that  splendid  claim  still 
stands.  The  number  of  those  who  have 
proved  it  by  personal  experience   has  in- 


238  (tlviat  jFunUanrtntal 

creased  year  by  year,  and  century  by  cen- 
tury. Men  have  tried  to  lay  other  foun- 
dations, but  they  and  their  works  have 
vanished.  The  bonfires  have  been  kindled 
on  a  thousand  hills,  and  have  burned  out. 
The  floods  have  risen,  and  fallen,  and  swept 
away  the  frail  edifices  that  have  been  built 
upon  the  sands  of  time.  But  the  Impreg- 
nable Rock  remains  unshaken,  lifting  all  the 
lives  that  have  been  founded  upon  it  high 
above  the  wrecks  of  ages,  clear  outlined 
against  the  sky,  like  a  crown  of  towers  and 
a  city  that  hath  foundations,  whose  builder 
and  maker  is  God. 

Let  us  try  to  dig  down  into  the  meaning 
of  this  text  and  take  the  measure  of  it,  as 
men  have  measured  and  admired  the  great 
foundations  which  modern  archaeology  has 
unearthed  below  the  site  of  the  ancient 
temple  at  Jerusalem. 

In  what  sense  is  Jesus  Christ  the  funda- 
mental reality  of  human  life  ? 

I.  Christ  is  the  foundation  of  a  reason- 
able faith.  He  underlies  all  true  theology. 
Without  him  we  cannot  "assert  eternal 
Providence  and  justify  the  ways  of  God  to 
man."     The  moral  government  of  the  uni- 


€I)ridt  f  ttntamental  239 

verse  becomes  all  dark  and  confused,  "a 
mighty  maze  and  all  without  a  plan,"  unless 
we  believe  in  a  divine  Redeemer.  The 
problem  of  the  existence  of  evil  under  the 
rule  of  an  absolutely  good  God  is  insoluble, 
and,  I  say  it  reverently,  the  moral  character 
of  the  Supreme  Being  is  a  mockery  to  our 
conscience,  unless  we  can  discover  a  per- 
sonal, saving,  redeeming  revelation  of  the 
divine  Love  in  the  same  world  into  which 
the  Omnipotent  has  permitted  sin  to  enter. 

"  Till  God  in  human  flesh  I  see 
My  thoughts  no  comfort  find ; 
The  holy,  just  and  sacred  Three 
Are  terrors  to  my  mind." 

Now  the  trouble  with  men  who  have  made 
systems  of  doctrine  about  God,  even  when 
they  have  believed  sincerely  in  this  reve- 
lation of  God  in  Christ,  is  that  they  have 
made  it  supplemental,  instead  of  fundamen- 
tal, to  their  thought.  They  have  told  us 
first  what  God  must  be,  reasoning  from 
their  own  dim  conception  of  omnipotence 
and  omnipresence  and  omniscience.  They 
have  given  their  definitions  of  divine  justice 
and  mercy,  and  laid  down  the  conditions 
under  which  they  are  exercised.     They  have 


240  €l)ri6t  jFttntramental 

planned  out  the  scope  of  foreknowledge,  and 
traced  the  course  of  predestination.  They 
have  explained  the  mystery  of  sacraments, 
and  made  an  orderly  arrangement  of  the 
means  of  grace.  And  then,  in  this  vast  and 
complex  system,  they  have  found  a  place  for 
Christ,  and  they  have  unconsciously  fitted 
Christ  to  that  place. 

But  the  true  way  is  just  the  reverse.  It 
is  first  to  accept  Christ,  and  then  to  fit  our 
theology  to  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Him.  He 
is  the  foundation  already  laid,  and  to  Him 
the  outline  and  structure  of  the  building 
must  be  conformed.  The  mercy  and  justice 
of  Christ  are  the  mercy  and  justice  of  God. 
There  is  no  predestination  outside  of  Christ. 
All  the  divine  foreknowledge  is  summed  up 
and  expressed  in  Him,  for  He  is  the  Wis- 
dom and  the  Word  of  God.  The  sacra- 
ments are  but  signs  and  seals  of  Him ;  and 
He  is  the  means  of  grace  whereby  we  are 
made  partakers  of  the  divine  nature. 

And  what  follows  from  building  the  edi- 
fice of  the  faith  in  this  way,  on  Christ  as 
the  foundation  ?  Three  things :  First,  it  be- 
comes sure  and  steadfast.  Christ  does  not 
offer  us  a  knowledge  of  God  half  so  large, 


C^rifit  f  tmHaraental  241 

half  so  complete  in  logic  and  arrrangement, 
as  that  which  is  offered  by  many  human 
teachers.  He  leaves  many  secrets  untold, 
many  mysteries  unsolved.  But  there  is  this 
difference.  Their  complete  theodicies  are 
insecure  and  perishable.  The  failure  of  one 
link  in  the  chain  of  logic  lets  the  whole 
bridge  which  is  suspended  by  it  fall  into  the 
roaring  tide  of  doubt.  But  Christ's  revela- 
tion of  God,  confessedly  limited  and  adapted 
to  our  finite  minds,  is  a  revelation  of  fact, 
of  life,  of  reality,  of  true  communion  with 
the  Father  through  the  Son,  and  therefore 
it  is  firm  and  imperishable.  It  is  not  sus- 
pended over  life.  It  rests  upon  life.  Second ; 
The  Christian  faith  built  upon  Christ  has  a 
self -rectifying  and  purifying  power.  It  has 
power  to  discover  and  reject  the  false  ele- 
ments which  are  continually  thrusting  them- 
selves into  Christianity  from  heathendom : 
superstitions  and  perversions  and  assump- 
tions ;  cruel  and  unworthy  conceptions  of 
God ;  elements  borrowed  in  fact  from  the 
pagan  religions  and  false  philosophies.  These 
things,  I  say,  are  detected  and  exposed  by 
the  effort  to  thoroughly  Christianize  theo- 
logy.    Every  great  purification  and  revival 


242  Cl)rifi;t  f  unUamental 

in  theology  has  come  through  men  like 
Paul,  like  Chrysostom,  like  Francis  of  As- 
sisi,  like  Martin  Luther,  like  John  "Wesley, 
whose  whole  intellectual  being  was  built 
upon  personal  contact  with  God  in  Jesus 
Christ.  Third  :  The  faith  built  upon  Christ 
has  overcome  the  protest  which  human  na- 
ture has  always  raised  against  false  views  of 
God,  even  when  they  have  been  proclaimed 
by  ecclesiastical  authority.  "  The  God  whom 
we  know  through  Jesus  Christ  commends 
Himself  to  bad  men  as  well  as  to  good  men." 
"We  may  not  be  able  now  to  persuade  all 
men  to  believe  in  God,  to  love  Him,  to  serve 
Him,  any  more  than  the  apostles  were  able 
to  do  so  ;  but  at  least,  if  we  can  present  to 
the  world  the  view  of  God  which  is  in  Christ 
Jesus,  we  shall  hear  from  all  men  the  con- 
fession that  this  is  a  God  worthy  to  be  wor- 
shipped and  adored  and  served. 

11.  From  this  point  it  is  but  a  short  and 
easy  step  to  the  next  proposition.  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  foundation  of  a  truly  preach- 
able  and  powerful  gospel.  It  was  of  this 
chiefly  that  St.  Paul  was  thinking  when  he 
wrote  this  text.  Other  preachers  had  come 
into  his  beloved  church  at  Corinth,  working 


€l)rtfi(t  iFunHanuntal  243 

not  only  with  new  methods,  but  as  he  feared 
on  a  new  basis.  They  had  attempted  to  in- 
troduce personal  considerations  of  loyalty  to 
certain  parties  in  the  church  as  the  basis  of 
the  Christian  fellowship ;  they  had  taught 
in  such  a  way  that  adherence  to  human  the- 
ories, and  minor  points  of  doctrine,  and  per- 
sonal leaders,  seemed  to  be  the  principal 
thing,  and  fidelity  to  Jesus  Christ  a  subordi- 
nate thing.  The  emphasis  was  wrong.  The 
foundation  was  displaced.  The  whole  build- 
ing was  in  danger. 

Paul  cried  in  the  fervor  of  his  conviction, 
"Other  foundation  can  no  man  lay  than 
that  is  laid,  which  is  Jesus  Christ."  Not 
that  Paul  himself  never  preached  on  other 
subjects  than  the  person  of  Christ.  His 
range  of  teaching  was  rich  and  generous, 
vastly  beyond  that  of  other  preachers.  There 
was  no  subject  of  thought,  from  the  myster- 
ies of  divine  preexistence  to  the  ultimate 
relation  of  the  irrational  creatures  to  the 
manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God,  which  was 
beyond  the  interest  of  his  faith.  There  was 
no  sphere  of  human  duty,  from  that  of  the 
ruler  on  his  throne  to  that  of  the  slave  in 
his  master's  house,  of  which  he  did  not  dare 


244  €l)ri£«t  fundamental 

to  speak,  with  fearless,  loving,  inspiring,  and 
commanding  voice.  But  back  of  all  that  he 
said  —  nay,  throbbing  and  pulsating  through 
all  that  he  said  on  every  subject  —  was  the 
consciousness  that  God  was  in  Christ  recon- 
ciling the  world  to  Himself.  That  was  the 
deep  foundation  of  every  argument  and 
every  exhortation  ;  and  that  is  the  secret  of 
preaching  the  gospel. 

Nothing  is  foreign  to  the  gospel.  It  may 
enter,  it  must  enter,  into  every  region  of 
human  thought  and  conduct.  But  it  must 
always  be  true  to  itself.  It  may  not  come 
as  a  philosophy,  a  morality,  a  criticism,  but 
always  as  glad  tidings.  Many  men  preach 
as  if  Christ  had  never  really  lived.  What- 
ever subject  the  preacher  touches,  he  must 
see  it  and  treat  it  in  the  light  that  comes 
from  the  manger-cradle,  the  uplifted  cross, 
and  the  empty  sepulchre.  The  former  things 
are  passed  away,  all  things  are  become  new ; 
reason  itself  is  transformed  and  recreated, 
and  conscience  is  reilluminated,  by  the  fact 
that  God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave 
His  only  begotten  Son  that  whosoever  be- 
lieveth  in  Him  should  not  perish  but  have 
everlasting  life.  No  man  in  the  world  to-day 


Cl)rwt  Junliamental  245 

has  such  power  as  he  who  can  make  his 
fellowmen  feel  that  Christ  is  a  reality. 

It  is  said  of  David  Hume,  the  groat  skep- 
tic, that  he  once  went  to  listen  to  the  preach- 
ing of  John  Brown  of  Haddington.  "  That 
is  the  man  for  me,"  said  Hume ;  "  he  means 
what  he  says ;  he  speaks  as  if  Jesus  Christ 
were  at  his  elbow."  Yes,  my  brethren,  the 
man  of  the  world  was  right.  No  preaching 
can  convince  every  man.  But  the  only 
preaching  that  can  convince  or  help  any 
man  is  that  in  which  every  argument  and 
every  appeal  rests  at  last  upon  Jesus  Christ, 
the  divine  and  immutable  foundation  of  the 
gospel. 

III.  From  this  it  follows,  in  the  third 
place,  that  Jesus  Christ  is  the  only  true  and 
sure  foundation  of  the  moral  life.  For  as 
the  end  of  the  gospel  is  to  make  men  good, 
and  as  the  essence  of  the  gospel  is  the  set- 
ting forth  of  Jesus  Christ,  it  must  follow 
that  the  best  means  of  making  men  good  is 
to  bind  their  hearts  in  living  faith  to  Jesus. 

But  is  this  a  fact,  or  is  it  only  a  dream  of 
the  ardent  and  enthusiastic  Christian  ?  Can 
we  indeed  find  Christ  at  the  foundation  of 
what  is  bes^  in  humanity  ?     I  think  we  can. 


246  Cl)ru{t  JFttuKamental 

As  a  matter  of  history  I  think  we  can  see 
that  all  the  finest  and  noblest  things  in  the 
world  to-day,  —  the  hospital,  the  asylum,  the 
sanctities  of  home,  the  responsibilities  of 
government,  the  liberties  of  mankind,  are 
founded  upon  Christ.  Without  Christ  they 
would  never  have  been  possible.  Without 
Christ  the  very  beginnings  and  foreshadow- 
ings  of  them  which  were  scattered  through 
the  world,  would  still  have  been  frustrated 
and  crushed.  I  look  at  every  forward  step 
which  the  world  for  eighteen  hundred  years 
has  taken  out  of  the  darkness  into  the 
broader  light  of  a  new  day,  and  at  the  head 
of  the  marching  host  I  see  the  banner  of 
Christ  Jesus,  and  behind  the  movement  I 
feel  the  mighty  impulse  of  Christian  faith. 
I  look  at  the  splendid  uprisings  of  humanity 
against  tyranny,  and  injustice,  and  corrup- 
tion, and  wickedness  in  high  places;  and 
whether  the  revolution  was  accomplished  in 
the  awful  arbitrament  of  battle  or  by  the 
peaceful  power  of  the  ballot,  I  see  that  the 
force  which  won  the  victory  was  the  awak- 
ened and  enkindled  sentiment  of  those  who 
acknowledge  the  law  of  Jesus  Christ  as  su- 
preme and  call  Him  their  Master  and  Lord. 


€hxi6t  JFtmUamental  247 

Take  the  Christian  sentiment  clean  out  of 
the  people  of  any  land  and  see  how  many 
reformations  you  can  accomplish.  Nay,  let 
your  accomplished  reformation  once  shift 
its  foundation  from  the  law  of  justice  and 
righteousness  and  brotherhood  in  Jesus 
Christ,  let  the  agency  to  which  you  have 
committed  the  power  wrested  from  unworthy 
hands  forget  the  power  which  created  it, 
and  become  a  mere  party  among  the  parties, 
and  see  how  soon  it  will  decay  and  crumble, 
and  need  to  be  swept  away. 

Mark  you,  we  do  not  say  that  there  are 
no  good  workers  in  good  causes  except 
those  who  are  professedly  Christians.  That 
woidd  be  contrary  to  Christ's  own  teaching. 
He  taught  his  disciples  to  welcome  all  who 
would  labour  with  them  in  the  casting  out 
of  devils,  and  said,  "  He  that  is  not  against 
us  is  for  us."  Nor  do  we  say  that  there  is 
no  virtue  in  humanity  save  that  which  feels 
and  confesses  its  personal  dependence  upon 
Christ.  For  there  are  many  noble  princi- 
ples and  beautiful  characters  unconsciously 
built  upon  a  Christian  foundation,  laid  by  a 
mother's  prayers,  a  father's  example,  though 
the  builder  may  not  know  or  acknowledge 


248  Cljmt  iFunKamental 

it.  Yes,  there  are  even  larger  edifices,  socie- 
ties, nations,  it  may  be,  which  are  uncon- 
sciously based  upon  the  moral  ideal  which 
is  in  Christ,  and  which  silently  acknowledge 
Christianity  as  the  law  of  laws,  even  though 
God  be  not  named  in  their  constitution. 
They  are  like  the  villages  in  Egypt  which 
were  unwittingly  erected  upon  the  massive 
foundations  of  some  ancient  temple. 

But  what  we  say  now  is,  that  the  only 
security  for  the  conscious  and  deliberate 
building  of  the  moral  life,  whether  of  com- 
munities or  individuals,  lies  in  making  Jesus 
Christ  the  foundation.  And  why  ?  Because 
there  is  no  permanence  of  character,  there 
is  no  consistency  of  action,  without  a  clear 
and  perfect  and  immutable  ideal.  And  there 
is  no  such  ideal  except  Christ. 

Men  have  tried  to  create  ideals  for  them- 
selves, and  for  a  time  they  have  seemed 
beautiful,  but  they  have  always  failed  and 
fallen.  Each  of  these  ideals  has  had  its  own 
virtues  ;  but  the  "  defects  of  its  virtues  " 
have  ultimately  destroyed  it.  There  was  a 
philosophic  ideal  in  the  days  of  the  Stoics 
and  Epicureans.  But  it  was  perverted  and 
corrupted  into  the  unspeakable  frivolity  and 


Clbrwt  jFunKamcntal  249 

triviality  of  the  later  Alexandrian  schools. 
There  was  a  military  .ideal  in  the  Middle 
Ages ;  but  it  hardened  into  intolerable 
cruelty  and  tyranny.  There  was  an  artistic 
ideal  in  the  Renaissance  ;  but  it  decayed  in 
luxury  and  self-indulgence.  There  was  a 
social  ideal  in  the  French  Revolution,  and 
it  produced  some  noble  and  self-sacrificing 
men,  some  earnest  and  fervent  efforts  for 
the  welfare  of  the  world.  That  social  ideal 
still  survives,  and  there  are  some  who  think 
that  it  is  the  hope  of  the  future.  Its  motto 
is  simply,  "Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity." 
Its  programme  is  to  change  the  structure  of 
society  first,  and  consider  the  truth  of  Chris- 
tianity afterward.  But  even  in  a  hundred 
years  how  has  that  ideal  been  warped  and 
distorted  into  the  ugly  shapes  of  Anarchism 
and  Nihilism  !  And  if  it  should  carry  out 
its  programme  of  material  equality  for  every 
man,  what  security  would  that  give  for  moral 
elevation  and  purity  ?  What  warrant  have 
we  for  thinking  that  "  the  new  society " 
would  not  be  a  dead  level  of  equally  com- 
fortable, equally  sensual,  equally  faithless, 
and  equally  hopeless  men  and  women,  with 
not  a  thought  beyond  this  world,  and  not  a 


250  €\}xifit  JunUamintal 

care  except  to  see  that  no  one  got  a  larger 
share  of  the  loaves  and  fishes  than  they 
secured  for  themselves  ? 

No,  my  brethren,  the  one  ideal  that  is 
pure  and  permanent  and  satisfying,  the  one 
ideal  that  actually  has  had  power  to  keep 
itself  alive  and  prove  itself  victorious  over 
the  disintegrating  forces  of  sin  and  death,  is 
the  ideal  in  Jesus  Christ.  The  men  and  wo- 
men who  have  built  upon  that  foundation 
have  been  the  best  men  and  women,  and 
have  left  behind  them  the  most  enduring 
and  glorious  work,  even  in  the  very  domain 
where  the  human  ideals  have  been  erected 
as  supreme. 

What  contributions  to  human  intelligence 
have  been  made  to  compare  with  those  of 
Christian  philosophers  like  Augustine  and 
Thomas  Aquinas  and  Bacon  and  Leibnitz 
and  Locke  and  Kant  and  Newton  ?  What 
soldiers  under  the  Roman  eagles  fought  like 
the  Christian  legion,  and  what  knight  left 
such  a  record  of  chivalry  as  Bayard,  sans 
peur  et  sans  reproche  f  What  poets  sang  like 
Dante  and  Milton?  What  artists  painted 
like  Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael  ?  What 
apostles  of  humanity  have  made  such  real 


C|)ru(t  iFttntfamcntal  251 

and  lasting  contributions  to  the  happiness 
of  mankind  as  William  Wilberforce  and 
Robert  Raikes  and  John  Howard  and  Flor- 
ence Nightingale  ?  Yes,  what  have  all  the 
social  theorists  and  dreamers  outside  the 
circle  of  Christian  charity  done  that  will 
compare  for  a  moment  with  the  silent,  cease- 
less ministry  of  service  to  the  sick  and 
wounded  in  great  hospitals  and  crowded 
cities,  of  protection  to  the  helpless  and  com- 
fort to  the  friendless,,  of  instruction  to  the 
ignorant  and  care  to  the  forsaken,  which 
thousands  of  men  and  women  have  been 
quietly  giving,  through  the  centuries,  for 
Christ's  sake  ? 

Beloved,  if  you  want  to  be  good  and  to  do 
good,  come  to  Christ  and  let  Him  teach 
you.  Form  your  character  on  his  model, 
and  let  the  ideal  of  a  life  in  Christ,  for 
Christ,  like  Christ,  be  the  foundation  on 
which  you  build  for  time  and  eternity. 

rV.  Jesus  Christ  is  the  only  foundation 
of  the  Christian  Church.  The  church  visi- 
ble is  not  confined  to  any  one  nation  or 
denomination.  It  is  composed  of  all  who 
acknowledge   Jesus    Christ    as   Lord    and 


252  ai^vuit  iFttutiamental 

Saviour.  But  the  visible  church  is  only  the 
framework  and  scaffolding  of  the  Invisible 
Church,  the  Communion  of  Saints,  the  ful- 
ness of  Him  that  filleth  all  in  all.  How- 
majestic,  how  full  of  flashing  splendours,  are 
the  words  in  which  the  inspired  apostles 
describe  this  glorious  edifice,  —  "  Built  upon 
the  apostles  and  prophets,  Jesus  Christ  be- 
ing the  chief  corner  stone."  "To  whom 
coming  as  unto  a  living  stone,  ye  also  are 
built  up  a  spiritual  house,  a  holy  priesthood, 
to  offer  up  spiritual  sacrifices  acceptable  to 
God  by  Jesus  Christ." 

Taking  this  description  of  the  invisible 
church  into  my  hand  as  a  torch  to  light  my 
way,  I  go  abroad  through  the  Christian 
world  and  back  through  the  ages,  like  one 
who  walks  through  the  long-drawn  aisles, 
and  mysterious  crypts,  and  manifold  chapels, 
of  some  magnifical  Cathedral.  I  see  and 
hear  many  things  that  astonish  and  perplex 
me.  There  are  strange  pictures  on  some  of 
the  walls,  and  strange  incense  rises  from  some 
of  the  altars.  There  are  sacrifices  offered 
which  are  carnal,  and  materials  used  which 
are  not  spiritual.  But  these  human  props 
and  incrustations  which  have  gathered  about 


C()rifi(t  iFunUamental  253 

Christianity  are  disappearing  and  dropping 
away.  Behind  them  rise  the  mighty,  aerial 
walls.  Through  the  passing  words  of  error 
and  folly  framed  by  the  lips  of  men,  like 
the  sound  of  the  sea,  like  the  voice  of  many 
waters,  rises  the  Creed  of  Christendom.  ''  I 
believe  in  God  the  Father  Almighty  and  in 
Jesus  Christ  His  only  Son  our  Lord,  begot- 
ten before  all  worlds,  God  of  God,  light  of 
light,  very  God  of  very  God,  who  for  us 
men  and  our  salvation  came  down  from 
heaven  and  was  incarnate  by  the  Holy  Ghost 
of  the  Virgin  Mary." 

And  then  sweeter  than  angels*  songs 
breaks  forth  the  solemn  chant,  "  The  Holy 
Church  throughout  all  the  world  doth  ac- 
knowledge Thee.  The  Father  of  an  infinite 
majesty.  Thine  adorable  true  and  only  son, 
also  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Comforter.  Thou 
art  the  King  of  Glory,  O  Christ,  Thou  art 
the  everlasting  Son  of  the  Father.'* 


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Date  Due 

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